GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 

YOUNG   FISHERMEN;  OR,  THE   KING  OF  SMUG 
GLERS'  ISLAND 
YOUNG  LOGGERS;  OR,  THE  GRAY  AXEMAN  OF  MX. 

CROW 
YOUNG    SEA-MERCHANTS;    OR,  AFTER  HIDDEN 

TREASURE 

TIBERIUS  SMITH 
YOUNG  GEM-HUNTERS;  OR,  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE 

HAUNTED  CAMP 
YOUNG    TIMBER-CRUISERS;  OR,  FIGHTING  THE 

SPRUCE  PIRATES 
YOUNG    WOODSMEN;   OR,  RUNNING  DOWN  THE 

SQUAWTOOTH  GANG 
YOUNG  TRAPPERS;  OR,  THE  QUEST  OF  THE  GIANT 

MOOSE 
RED  BELTS 


seized  her  hand  and  waited  a  second  to  mdlce 
sure  I  was  right" 


Gentlemen 
of   the    North 


By 
Hugh   Pendexter 


Frontispiece 

by 
Ralph  Pollen  Coleman 


Garden  City  New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED,   INCLUDING  THAT  OF 

TRANSLATION   INTO  FOREIGN   LANGUAGES 

INCLUDING  THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT  IQlg,  BY  THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 


TO 

HUGH  PENDEXTER,  JR. 

GOOD   PAL,   GOOD   SON, 

THIS   BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 


PREFACE 

IN  building  this  story  I  have  made  use  of  the  following 
books  for  colour  and  historical  facts:  Alexander  Henry's 
Journal,  edited  by  the  late  Dr.  Elliott  Coues;  "Lewis  and 
Clark's  Expedition,"  Chittenden's  "American  Fur  Trade,"  H. 
H.  Brackenridge's  journal  of  his  Missouri  trip  in  1811.  Almost 
all  the  Indians  named  in  the  story  were  real  characters.  Old 
Tabashaw  was  killed  by  a  Sioux  war-party  at  Wild  Rice 
River  in  the  winter  of  1807.  Eshkebugecoshe,  or  Flat  Mouth, 
chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas,  was  about  thirty  years  old  at 
the  time  of  the  story,  and  was  one  of  Henry's  hunters  on  Red 
River.  He  is  credited  with  influencing  the  Chippewas  to  cease 
their  practice  of  poisoning,  and  he  refused  to  fight  against  the 
United  States  in  1812.  Le  Borgne  is  drawn  after  descriptions 
given  by  Brackenridge,  members  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark  Expe 
dition,  Henry  and  others.  For  the  sake  of  speeding  up  the  ac 
tion  I  have  forced  the  coalition  of  the  N.  W.  and  the  X.  Y. 
companies  by  a  few  months.  The  merger  was  completed  on 
November  5,  1804,  and  the  winter  express  brought  the  news  to 
Henry  at  the  Pembina  post  on  January  I,  1805. 

HUGH  PENDEXTER. 

January  5,  1920. 
Norway,  Maine. 


vii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  ICE  GOES  OUT 3 

II.  THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT 26 

III.  THE  STOLEN  VOICE 51 

IV.  SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM 66 

V.  THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP 85 

VI.  BESIEGED 113 

VII.  THE  Sioux  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      .     .  121 

VIII.  WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE     ....  137 

IX.  AT  THE  MlNNETAREE  VILLAGE 162 

X.  LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST 187 

XL  THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL  212 


GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 


GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  ICE  GOES  OUT 

A  BROWN   river  rolling  up   from  the  south  between 
banks  of  oak  and  willow  and  bois  blanc,  surrounded 
by  the  wet,  steaming  woods  of  April  and  flanked  on 
the  west  by  plains  which  climb  higher  and  higher  until  they 
find  the  Rockies.    A  brown  river  bearing  the  trunks  of  mighty 
trees;  a  silent,  sullen  flood  carpeted  with  dead  buffaloes.    This 
is  the  most  persistent  of  all  my  pictures  of  the  Red  River  of  the 
North. 

It  is  long  since  I  have  gazed  upon  it.  Yet  there  is  scarcely 
a  day  my  thoughts  do  not  travel  back  to  some  phase  of  it; 
to  the  time  when  the  rivalry  was  at  its  height  between  the* 
North  West  Company  and  our  opponents,  the  X.  Y.  Company 

Sir  Alexander  MacKenzie's  vehicle  in  fighting  our  arrogant 
Simon  McTavish  for  the  fur  trade — and  the  indomitable 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  which  was  to  swallow  us  all.  Of 
all  my  recollections  of  cruel  hardships  and  wild  freedom,  that 
view  of  the  river  in  early  April,  1804,  left  the  deepest  impress 
on  me.  This,  partly  because  it  was  a  symbol  of  the  country's 
desolation  and  loneliness  and  savage  hostility  to  us  Northmen, 
partly  because  that  April  day  proved  to  be  the  threshold  to 
remarkable  experiences,  wherein  I  was  to  suffer  much  and  find 
the  great  happiness. 

When  the  spell  is  on  me,  which  is  often,  the  civilized  horizon 
of  the  Northwest  films  over  and  again  I  behold  the  brown  ex- 


4  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

panse  of  freshet  waters  hurrying  with  their  gruesome  toil  to 
mingle  with  the  Assiniboin  at  the  Forks.  No  other  river  linked 
us  Northmen  so  closely  with  the  Sioux  country  in  the  South, 
that  source  of  perpetual  menace.  The  danger  that  might 
come  down  the  river  at  any  minute  kept  alive  my  interest  in 
it  and  stimulated  my  imagination  as  I  watched  its  muddy  tide, 
choked  with  innumerable  shaggy  victims,  sweeping  by  the  Pem- 
bina  River  post  of  the  N.  W.  Company.  It  was  a  bridge  be 
tween  the  known  perils  of  the  Pembina  country  and  the  bar 
barity  of  the  Adder  People. 

It  was  tingling  to  young  blood  to  know  a  fate  worse  than 
death  might  be  descending  the  river  at  any  time.  Let  the  Sioux 
war-parties  range  ever  so  wide  of  our  domain,  and  yet,  night 
and  day,  we  felt  their  presence,  we  few  Northmen  and  our 
Chippewas. 

The  slamming  of  a  door  to  one  of  the  men's  huts  outside  the 
stockade  at  night  became  the  discharge  of  a  Sioux  gun ;  a  fright 
ened  mob  would  come  hammering  at  the  gate  and  frantically 
demanding  admittance,  old  Tabashaw,  the  chief  and  thorough 
scoundrel,  in  the  lead.  A  buffalo  bull  with  a  broken  leg  had 
been  wounded  by  a  Sioux ;  for  days  the  hunters  would  hug  the 
fort.  Or  the  buffaloes  stampeded,  or  large  flocks  of  swans  rose 
in  alarm  from  the  river  above  us;  it  was  break  open  the  gun 
cases  and  serve  out  powder  and  ball.  The  wind  from  the 
south  brought  smoke;  only  a  Sioux  fire  could  have  made  it. 
An  old  woman  dreamed  a  Sioux  warrior  stuck  his  head  in 
her  hut  and  counted  the  men  there;  the  children  and  women 
are  hurried  inside  the  stockade.  Horsemen  riding  and  raising 
a  cloud  of  snow  can  only  be  Sioux  warriors  on  a  winter  path. 
Even  Flat  Mouth,  chief  of  the  Pillager  band  of  Chippewas, 
young  like  myself,  a  very  brave  man  and  much  travelled,  has 
galloped  to  the  fort  after  mistaking  red  deer  in  August  for 
enemy  horsemen. 

Thus  it  went  from  day  to  night  and  then  repeated.  Always 
omens  and  signs  to  remind  us  of  those  ferocious  people  who 
gave  no  quarter  and  who  would  never  forget  it  was  the  Chip- 
pewa  Nation  that  prevented  their  holding  a  clear  title  to  the 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  5 

headwaters  of  the  Mississippi.  Summer  and  winter,  with  the 
new  leaf  and  with  the  yellow,  tobacco  was  passing  between  the 
Chippewas,  Crees,  and  Assiniboins  for  war  against  the  Sioux. 
Never  while  I  was  in  the  country  did  the  Northern  Indians 
accomplish  anything  lasting.  A  sudden  foray,  a  few  scalps 
danced;  that  was  about  all. 

Undoubtedly  a  subconscious  fear  of  the  Sioux  was  also  re 
sponsible  for  the  picture  of  the  brown  river  in  April.  Some 
imaginative  quality  of  reasoning,  perhaps,  interpreted  the  herds 
of  drowned  buffaloes  as  a  symbol  of  the  Sioux's  power  and 
remorselessness.  When  Nature  has  an  opportunity  for  unlim 
ited  slaughter,  she  turns  Sioux  and  kills  on  a  tremendous  scale. 

Three  seasons  I  heard  the  ice  give  and  go  out  with  the  noise 
of  many  guns,  wrenching  earth  and  trees  from  the  banks  like 
rome  aquatic  behemoth  with  claws  many  fathoms  wide.  The 
first  time  was  at  the  Park  River  post  above  the  Pembina ;  once 
from  our  outpost  at  the  mouth  of  Reed  River,  ten  miles  below 
the  Pembina.  But  never  was  I  filled  with  such  longing  to 
follow  the  ice  through  the  Forks  and  down  the  trail  of  lake 
and  river  to  Superior  as  on  that  mild  April  day  of  1804.  It 
wasn't  homesickness,  for  I  was  completing  my  third  season 
as  company  clerk  and  had  no  ties  back  East  to  draw  me.  It 
was  "Black"  Chabot,  bourgeois,  or  postmaster,  who  was  serving 
in  place  of  Mr.  Alexander  Henry,  the  man  I  came  out  with, 
who  was  now  up  the  Saskatchewan  on  important  business  for 
the  gentlemen  of  the  North. 

It's  not  boasting  to  say  I  felt  no  physical  fear  of  Chabot, 
although  he  was  an  overgrown  hulk  of  a  man  with  an  immense 
black  beard.  His  savage  ways  left  nothing  for  our  Chippewas 
to  teach  him.  But  I  did  not  fear  him,  for  I  could  kill  him  as 
a  last  resort.  It  was  the  daily  grind  of  having  to  associate  with 
the  brute  that  got  on  my  nerves.  The  best  of  friends  wear  on 
each  other  at  times  when  cooped  up  for  a  long  winter  in  close 
quarters ;  at  his  best  Chabot  was  intolerable.  For  two  months 
I  had  kept  my  hand  on  my  skinning-knife  whenever  he  ap 
proached  me. 

I  hoped  he  would  keep  his  beastly  temper  in  check  and  never 


6  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

lay  hands  on  me;  for,  did  he  do  that,  the  Pembina  would  need 
a  new  master  or  a  new  clerk.  The  danger  lay  in  his  growing 
love  for  alcohol,  thinly  mixed  with  water — "high  wine"  the 
trade  called  it.  When  in  drink,  which  was  his  normal  condi 
tion,  he  was  very  variable  in  his  moods,  ranging  from  the  caress 
ing  to  the  ferocious  and  always  foul-mouthed.  If  he  ever 
attacked  me,  I  was  determined  not  to  cower  like  a  sheep  and 
be  murdered,  as  I've  known  Chippewa  squaws  to  die  when 
their  husbands  were  in  a  drunken  fury.  And,  did  one  resist 
him,  it  must  be  to  the  limit;  kill  or  be  broken. 

The  post  was  well  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  Pembina, 
and  opposite  Peter  Grant's  old  fort  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
Red,  now  in  ruins,  the  first  North  West  Company  post 
established  on  the  river.  Below  us  grew  large  bois  blanc,  or 
whitewood,  which  we  used  for  floorings.  Between  us  and  the 
western  plains  were  the  big  oaks  we  had  drawn  on  in  construct 
ing  the  buildings.  From  the  Pembina  to  the  Park  the  country 
was  level  and  open,  the  only  timber  being  along  the  banks  of 
the  Red.  The  Pembina  site  was  discouraging  enough  when 
Mr.  Henry  and  I  looked  it  over.  It  was  heaped  high  with 
fallen  trees  and  the  underbrush  was  so  rank  one  couldn't  see 
a  dozen  feet  in  any  direction. 

We  soon  remedied  that,  however.  But  the  fairest  spot  on 
earth  would  become  detestable  if  it  had  to  contain  Chabot  and 
his  drunken  humours.  He  may  have  done  big  things  for  the 
N.  W.  when  he  was  on  the  Assiniboin.  Give  the  devil  his 
due;  he  must  have  accomplished  much  to  be  appointed  master 
at  Pembina.  It  must  have  been  that  he  traded  his  high  wine 
instead  of  giving  so  much  of  it  to  himself.  He  had  held  him 
self  in  during  the  fall,  but  the  winter  had  broken  down  all  self- 
restraint.  So  I  was  keen  to  return  East  and  ask  for  another 
position.  I  had  committed  myself  to  furthering  the  interests  of 
Simon  McTavish,  of  McTavish,  Frobisher  &  Company. 

The  breath  of  the  fur  company  had  filled  my  lungs,  and, 
although  well  educated  for  those  days,  I  had  no  dreams  of  ever 
doing  anything  except  to  trade  for  buffalo  robes  and  beaver.  I 
had  nursed  ambitions.  I  desired  to  become  a  notable  North- 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  7 

man.  So  the  wild  fowl,  filling  the  sky,  were  no  more  eager  to 
make  their  Northern  homes  than  was  I  to  make  the  Grand 
Portage  and  hasten  on  to  Montreal  and  obtain  a  transfer. 

Now  that  the  time  was  near  for  starting  the  skin  canoes 
down  the  river  it  did  not  seem  I  could  compose  my  soul  in 
patience  to  await  the  great  day.  Strangely  enough  this  ap 
proach  of  freedom  suddenly  caused  me  to  fear  that  I  and  not 
Black  Chabot  might  precipitate  a  tragedy.  As  I  gazed  on  the 
woful  waste  of  hides  swirling  by  the  post,  I  repeatedly  vowed 
I  would  watch  myself  every  minute  and  keep  away  from 
Chabot  as  much  as  possible.  I  even  planned  to  leave  ahead 
of  him  and  the  brigade,  on  the  excuse  it  would  be  well  for 
me  to  visit  our  station  on  the  Scratching,  where  the  X.  Y. 
opposition  also  was  established. 

"Red"  Dearness  was  the  new  master  there,  having  arrived 
late  in  the  winter  with  Madame,  his  woman.  He  was  a  surly 
sort,  I  heard,  something  of  a  recluse.  Fragments  of  gossip 
about  his  woman  had  her  full-blood  and  quarter.  It  would 
never  do  for  me  to  suggest  the  trip.  Black  Chabot  must  think 
it  was  his  own  idea  and  something  of  a  hardship  for  me.  I 
fancied  I  was  intelligent  enough  to  bring  this  about. 

I  thought  of  several  different  methods  for  planting  the  notion 
in  his  thick  head  as  I  idly  watched  the  Indian  women  drag 
buffaloes  to  the  bank.  They  were  lifting  the  back  fat  and 
removing  the  tongues,  leaving  the  rest  to  rot  except  for  one  or 
two  which  they  cut  up  for  their  own  use.  We  white  men 
would  not  eat  drowned  buffalo,  but  the  Chippewas  were  fond 
of  it.  The  meat  did  appear  to  be  all  right,  fresh  and  firm. 
Of  course  the  women  could  secure  only  one  or  two  out  of  each 
hundred  huge  bodies  floating  by.  There  were  literally  herds  of 
the  big  brutes.  Above  and  below  our  post  every  river  was  con 
tributing  its  ghastly  cargo.  Thousands  and  thousands  perished 
each  season  in  crossing  the  ice.  And  this  terrific  waste  had  been 
going  on  for  hundreds  and  probably  thousands  of  years.  In 
addition  to  the  carcasses  floating  downstream  there  were  count 
less  bodies  lodged  along  the  banks  of  the  many  rivers.  Soon 


8  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

there  would  arise  an  awful  stench,  for  there  were  not  enough 
scavengers  to  cheat  the  hot  sun. 

On  the  plains  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  were  living  and 
dead  buffalo.  Bald  eagles  and  crows  and  wolves  were  batten 
ing  on  the  fallen.  Our  dogs  chased  those  afoot  that  wandered 
near  the  fort.  Many  a  scabby  old  bull  carried  a  crow  on  his 
back  and  displayed  a  furious  temper  under  the  implacable  and 
continuous  pecking.  The  beasts  were  a  sad  sight  to  look  at 
now,  lean  and  showing  huge  patches  where  their  winter  coats 
had  fallen  out. 

Back  in  February  one  of  the  hunters  said  he  had  found  a  calf 
frozen  to  death  and  declared  it  was  a  positive  sign  of  an  early 
spring.  At  that  time  we  were  finishing  two  hundred  cords  in 
our  four  chimneys  and  were  sceptical  of  such  prophecies.  Still, 
the  season  did  break  early,  although  for  the  life  of  me  I  never 
could  understand  why  abnormally  cold  weather  in  February 
should  forecast  an  early  breaking  up  of  the  ice.  For  that 
matter  the  strong  timber  Indians  have  many  signs  and  omens 
which  come  to  nothing. 

The  town-bred  would  have  found  nothing  but  grim  severity 
in  the  panorama.  But  I  knew  the  ash-leaf  maples  were  running 
and  that  the  women  were  making  sugar,  and  I  felt  the  wind 
mild  and  mellow  as  it  blew  up  from  the  south,  promising  a 
•clear  passage  home  even  if  it  brought  the  reek  of  smoke  which 
might  mean  the  Sioux.  The  summer  birds  and  frogs  unquali 
fiedly  insisted  it  was  springtime  and  high  time  for  one  to  desire 
to  go  somewhere. 

In  and  outside  the  stockade  the  hunters  were  preparing  theii 
traps  for  the  spring  hunt.  Already  the  raccoons  were  begin 
ning  to  leave  their  hollow  trees  during  the  daytime,  and  quite  a 
few  were  being  taken.  That  morning  one  of  the  Indians  had 
brought  in  several  wolf  pups,  tame  and  playful  as  kittens.  He 
intended  raising  them  for  sled  dogs.  An  important  event  was 
the  arrival  of  two  men  with  the  winter  express  from  Portage 
La  Prairie,  bringing  orders  to  Chabot  and  bearing  other  mat 
ters  which  must  be  taken  without  delay  to  Grand  Portage. 

How  I  longed  to  carry  the  express!     With  the  season  so 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  9 

early  I  knew  I  could  make  Sault  Ste.  Marie  before  June.  Un 
fortunately  Chabot  was  the  master  and  after  reading  his  orders 
he  had  stuffed  them  in  his  leather  coat  and  lavishly  treated  the 
messengers  to  rum  before  sending  them  on  their  way.  They 
were  half  drunk  when  they  left  and  he  continued  drinking 
alone. 

Short  Arms  came  in  howling  over  the  death  of  a  child,  and 
he  must  have  a  keg  of  liquor  to  drive  away  his  sorrow  and 
some  red  cloth  and  vermilion  to  cover  the  body.  Chabot  had 
no  excuse  for  getting  the  express  drunk  and  thereby  delaying 
the  business  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  North,  but  of  course  it  was 
necessary  to  give  the  rum  to  the  Indian.  With  the  English,  as 
with  the  French  before  them  and  as  it  would  be  with  the 
Americans  in  the  South,  liquor  was  the  backbone  of  the  fur 
trade. 

It  made  it  beastly  disagreeable  at  times  for  anyone  inclined 
to  be  fastidious,  but  only  high  wine  would  bring  in  furs  and 
skins  for  a  surety.  Even  in  Montreal,  the  heart  of  the  North 
ern  fur  trade,  I  have  heard  people  complain  about  the  universal 
practice  of  trading  rum  for  pelts.  Substitute  something  else  for 
rum  and  see  how  many  packs  of  beaver  go  down  the  St.  Law 
rence. 

I  do  not  suppose  that  that  particular  morning  differed  greatly 
from  those  that  preceded  it,  yet  it  sticks  in  my  memory  like  a 
burr  to  a  bull  because  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  wonderful 
experience  for  me,  the  coming  of  something  which  was  to  affect 
my  whole  life  and  bring  contentment  out  of  a  welter  of  great 
dangers.  The  details,  even  the  trivial  things,  stand  very  clear- 
cut.  All  things  counted,  it  had  been  a  busy  morning.  Old 
Tabashaw  was  drunk  early  and  bawling  some  new  medicine 
songs  in  an  attempt  to  cure  a  young  woman  whose  jealous  hus 
band  had  shot  an  arrow  through  her  body.  Those  not  employed 
in  making  their  traps  fit  were  playing  their  game  of  platter  and 
pestering  me  for  liquor. 

Before  pausing  to  watch  the  river  I  had  overseen  the  making 
of  the  last  of  the  pemmican,  ninety  pounds  to  a  bag,  fifty  of 
beef  and  the  rest  in  grease.  I  also  had  supervised  the  repairing 


io  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

and  the  gumming  of  the  canoes.  These  had  rested  all  winter 
under  thick  covering  of  hay,  their  frames  loosened,  and  they 
needed  careful  attention.  I  had  pursued  and  caught  Little 
Crane  and  made  him  give  up  pelts  due  us  for  debt.  He  was 
taking  his  hunt  to  the  X.  Y.  post,  angry  because  I  had  refused 
him  an  extra  ration  of  rum. 

When  I  halted  him  and  insisted  on  his  squaring  his  debt,  the 
scoundrel  tried  to  knife  me,  but  a  clout  over  the  head  with  my 
strong  club  quickly  brought  him  to  his  senses,  or,  rather, 
knocked  him  senseless.  My  duty  to  my  employers  demanded 
I  prevent  the  Crane  from  cheating  us  out  of  the  debt  and  en 
riching  "Red"  Dearness,  of  the  opposition. 

I  had  small  stomach  for  what  immediately  followed.  Some 
women  came  in  from  the  Pemibina  Mountains,  bringing  a  pack 
of  prime  beaver  which  they  were  taking  to  the  X.  Y.  post 
on  the  Scratching  to  pay  their  men's  debt.  We  had  a  hut  in 
the  mountains  and  a  small  assortment  of  goods  to  catch  the 
Cree  and  Assiniboin  as  well  as  the  Chippewa  trade.  Had  there 
been  any  chance  of  honourably  trading  for  the  pack,  our  men 
would  have  done  so.  But  the  furs  were  already  owed  to  the 
opposition.  When  Chabot  learned  of  the  women's  presence 
and  their  intention  of  carrying  their  pack  down-river,  he  raged 
and  cursed  the  hill  men  for  fools  for  ever  letting  the  beaver 
get  by  them.  Then  he  demanded  the  women  give  the  furs  to 
him  and  when  they  refused  he  fought  them.  They  fought  like 
wildcats,  but  he  got  the  trade. 

Such  work  was  bound  to  make  bad  business  for  us,  for  the 
devil  had  been  to  pay  ever  since  the  X.  Y.  and  the  H.  B.  opposi 
tion  came  to  the  Red.  During  my  three  seasons  there  I  had 
seen  the  Chippewas,  Crees,  and  Assiniboins  spoiled.  Each 
season  they  grew  worse.  If  a  man  killed  a  few  skins,  we  treated 
him  as  if  he  were  a  big  chief.  Almost  all  of  them  had  scarlet 
coats.  It  was  bad  enough  when  we  had  to  cater  to  old  Taba- 
shaw,  the  drunken  nuisance,  but  when  we  had  to  coddle  every 
hunter  who  made  an  ordinary  hunt  it  was  not  only  tedious  but 
dangerous.  If  I  punished  a  man  for  stealing  supplies,  he  would 
go  down  to  the  Scratching  to  be  petted  up  by  Dearness.  And 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  II 

we  made  much  of  those  who  came  to  us  after  being  corrected  at 
the  X.  Y.  Of  course,  such  conditions  couldn't  continually 
grow  worse  without  our  dead  bodies  being  thrown  into  the 
Red  to  vary  the  monotony  of  drowned  buffalo.  And,  having 
created  such  an  evil  situation,  it  was  madness  for  Black  Chabot 
to  take  skins  from  the  native  women  by  brute  force. 

All  this  and  a  dozen  other  tag  ends  of  trouble  were  swim 
ming  through  my  mind  as  I  watched  the  women  drag  the 
buffaloes  ashore  and  tried  to  perfect  my  scheme  for  being  sent 
on  ahead  to  the  Scratching. 

When  a  great  hubbub  inside  the  stockade  attracted  my  at 
tention  I  took  it  for  granted  another  jealous  buck  had  knifed 
his  wife  or  bitten  off  her  nose,  but  a  glance  showed  me  Chabot's 
huge  form  and  black  whiskers,  and  the  air  seemed  to  be  filled 
with  wolf  pups.  The  owner  of  the  pups  looked  bad  about  the 
eyes  but  contented  himself  with  grunting  as  he  gathered  his 
pets  in  a  corner.  Chabot,  from  sheer  brutality,  had  halted  on 
entering  the  gate  to  kick  the  little  creatures  out  of  his  path. 
Now  he  swaggered  up  to  me,  looking  very  nasty.  I  dropped 
my  hand  over  my  knife  and  braced  my  feet. 

His  first  words,  bawled  out  so  the  whole  post  could  hear, 
were — 

"Found  out  yet  who  cut  that  hole  through  the  back  of  the 
storehouse?" 

This  stock  question  was  the  barometer  of  his  drams.  Nearly 
three  months  before  some  Indian  had  cut  a  hole  through  the 
logs  of  the  storehouse  and  by  means  of  a  gun-screw  on  the  end 
of  a  stick  had  attempted  to  fish  out  some  of  our  trade  goods. 
Fortunately  the  screw  had  broken  off  at  the  first  trial  and  had 
dropped  inside,  and  we  had  lost  nothing.  When  at  the  fighting 
peak  of  his  drinking  Chabot  always  brought  this  matter  up, 
treating  it  as  if  it  were  a  fresh  crime  and  peculiarly  within  my 
province  to  solve.  There  was  scarcely  anything  outside  of  per 
sonal  abuse  which  he  could  have  said  that  would  have  irritated 
as  did  this  query. 

In  my  exasperation  I  answered — 


12  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"I'll  get  a  wabeno  drum  and  go  into  a  trance  and  maybe  find 
out  all  about  it." 

Instantly  I  was  sorry  to  have  said  it,  for  I  remembered  my 
fears  of  a  flare-up  at  the  last  minute  and  my  firm  resolve  to 
avoid  it.  And  now  I  had  invited  a  tragedy  by  my  sarcasm. 

"Franklin,  that  ain't  the  way  to  talk  to  me,"  he  murmured. 
"As  clerk  you're  supposed  to  keep  track  of  the  goods." 

Once  more  my  good  intentions  flew  away  and  I  angrily  re 
joined  : 

"I  can't  keep  track  of  anything  stolen  unless  I  steal  it  myself. 
Please  remember  that  nothing  was  taken." 

"I  do  remember,"  he  snorted.  "This  post  would  go  to if 

I  didn't  do  most  of  the  remembering.  Why  didn't  you  look 
for  tracks?" 

This  was  a  fair  sample  of  his  drunken  unreasonableness 
when  he  was  primed  to  pick  a  quarrel.  Now  I  was  determined 
to  hold  myself  in  check  and  politely  observed — 

"Pardon  me,  but  the  dogs  had  raced  back  and  forth  through 
the  snow  ard  destroyed  all  signs  before  you  and  I  could  look 
the  ground  over." 

"YouVe  always  got  a  good  reason  for  not  doing  things,"  he 
murmured. 

Once  he  lowered  his  voice  it  was  time  to  look  out  for  trouble. 
Twice  within  a  minute  he  had  spoken  gently.  I  stepped  back, 
pretending  to  be  watching  the  sturgeon  jumping  in  the  river, 
but  in  reality  to  get  elbow  room  as  I  toyed  with  the  haft  of 
my  knife. 

"When  you  going  to  finish  that  pemmican  ?"  he  softly  asked. 

"It's  all  finished,"  I  said,  gripping  the  knife-handle. 

"Well,  for  God's  sake,  try  to  find  something  to  do  besides 
sight-seeing,"  he  bellowed.  The  danger  was  past  for  the  time 
and  my  hand  dropped  to  my  side.  In  his  bull  of  Bashan  voice 
he  continued,  "One  of  the  men  is  just  down  from  up-river  with 
twenty  beaver,  six  still  in  the  meat,  and  you  ought  to  be  on 
hand  to  trade  them.  Give  him  a  quart  of  that  West  Indies 
rum  that's  spoiled.  The  fools  think  it's  French  brandy.  Tell 
him  it's  a  present  for  getting  skins  while  those  other  skunks  do 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  13 

nothing  but  loaf.  Shows  what  they  can  do  if  they  want  to. 
He's  only  been  gone  two  days." 

His  idea  of  teaching  the  idlers  the  profits  of  industry  caused 
me  to  smile  as  best  I  could  do  to  keep  a  straight  face,  for  the 
loafers  were  all  drunk.  He  caught  the  smile,  although  I  swal 
lowed  it  fast  enough,  and  added — 

"After  you've  traded  the  skins  I  want  to  see  you  in  my 
room."  Low  tone  again,  the  danger  signal. 

I  believe  we  had  reached  a  point  where  something  radical 
must  happen.  I  could  no  longer  gain  anything  by  trying  to 
avoid  him,  to  dodge  his  vicious  moods.  The  man  who  found 
the  wolf  pups  and  several  others  were  watching  us  and  listen 
ing.  They  furnished  me  my  cue  and,  jerking  my  head  toward 
them,  I  warned : 

"You're  spoiling  your  own  trade  when  you  talk  this  way  to 
me.  They're  ready  for  mischief.  The  X.  Y.  has  spoiled 
them." 

My  reference  to  the  opposition  caused  him  to  forget  me. 
With  a  howl  of  rage  he  began  cursing  "Red"  Dearness  and  his 
woman.  He  had  never  seen  the  latter,  yet  he  included  her 
in  his  volley  of  invectives.  He  had  met  "Red"  Dearness  once 
at  the  mouth  of  Reed  River  and  came  within  an  inch  of  lock 
ing  canoes  and  having  it  out  to  the  death. 

"I  kicked  White  Partridge  nearly  to  death  after  he  stole 
my  horse  and  went  over  there.  When  Dearness  heard  about 
it  he  made  a  chief  out  of  the  skunk.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  the 
Indians  off  for  the  summer  hunt  and  the  brigade  under  way 
I'm  going  to  have  a  settlement  with  that  red  hound." 

"That  will  mean  the  two  posts  will  fight  it  out  with  the 
Indians  waiting  to  kill  off  the  survivors.  Then  the  H.  B.  will 
have  a  clear  field.  Dearness  is  new  down  here,  but  from  what 
I  hear  you  don't  want  to  start  blazing  a  trail  toward  him  un 
less  you're  willing  to  finish  it.  I  don't  see  as  he  has  done  any 
worse  than  you  have.  He'll  probably  have  something  to  say 
about  your  taking  the  skins  from  the  women." 

Instead  of  increasing  his  rage  this  frank  speech  set  him  to 


i4  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

chuckling  heavily.  He  was  remembering  his  coup  against  the 
X.  Y. 

"The  Arrer's  woman  tried  to  cut  my  throat,"  he  guffawed. 
"He'd  sell  her  to  me  for  a  nine-gallon  keg." 

"If  he  does,  she'll  cut  your  throat  in  earnest,"  I  warned. 
"But  to  get  back  to  me;  when  the  Indians  see  I  am  treated 
with  disrespect,  they'll  decide  you  can  be  treated  the  same  way." 

"Pooh !  I'll  break  the  back  of  the  first  dirty  buck  that  looks 
at  me  squint-eyed,"  he  bellowed. 

"Hurt  one  and  you  hurt  every  Chippewa  in  the  Northwest. 
Next  fall  we'll  find  they've  been  passing  tobacco  to  wipe  us 
out." 

This  statement  jolted  him  and  he  stared  at  me  steadily  for 
half  a  minute  and  began  plucking  at  his  long  beard.  He  was 
half  drunk  and  wanted  to  deride  my  warning.  However,  there 
was  a  streak  of  fear  in  his  make-up.  He  tried  to  laugh  and 
carried  it  off  poorly,  for  in  the  midst  of  a  guffaw  he  happened 
to  catch  the  scowling  gaze  of  the  wolf-hunter  and  grew  very 
sober. 

"Never  mind  about  the  beaver  pelts.  I'll  go  down  and  trade 
them,"  he  mumbled.  "Old  Tabashaw  has  been  telling  the 
men  he  has  a  new  medicine  and  can  make  rum  and  iron  arrers." 

"He's  bad,"  I  gravely  agreed.  "The  year  I  was  at  the  Park 
post  we  gave  him  a  New  Year's  treat  of  rum,  flour  and  sugar, 
and  he  paid  us  by  trying  to  bribe  our  hunter  to  leave  us,  so  we 
would  have  to  pay  more  for  our  meat.  We  were  giving  the 
hunter  sixty  skins,  cloth  for  his  wife  and  all  his  ammunition  too. 
Trouble  with  him  is  our  giving  his  men  too  many  red  coats. 
When  he  alone  had  a  red  coat  and  a  red  feather  for  his  hair,  he 
felt  he  was  chief.  Now  all  his  men  feel  as  big  as  he  does.  He 
knows  his  power  over  the  tribe  is  slipping  and  he  wants  to 
get  it  back  He's  making  ready  for  the  Grand  Medicine  cere 
mony.  After  that's  over  and  they  begin  making  the  wabeno, 
he'll  spring  some  new  tricks.  That's  why  he  plays  his  new 
drum  so  much.  Black  Robe  told  his  woman  yesterday  that 
the  chief  can  kill  any  man,  red  or  white,  by  just  wishing  him 
to  die." 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  15 

"The  poisoners !"  grunted  Chabot,  winding  up  with  a  little 
shiver.  "He's  at  it  now,  the  murderer!" 

He  referred  to  the  monotonous  thudding  of  the  new  drum,* 
accompanying  the  chief's  yowling  voice  in  more  wabeno  songs. 
The  chief  had  pretended  to  extract  a  piece  of  metal  from  the 
wounded  woman's  side  and  had  collected  a  big  kettle  and  two 
blankets  from  the  husband.  Now  he  was  seeking  another  piece 
of  metal  in  her  neck,  for  which  he  would  be  generously  paid. 

The  fact  that  the  arrow  had  left  no  foreign  substance  in  the 
wound  did  not  impair  the  husband's  credulity.  The  more  frag 
ments  of  iron  the  old  rascal  would  pretend  to  draw  from  the 
poor  body  the  greater  his  reputation  as  a  medicine  man.  His 
voice  rose  above  the  noise  made  by  the  dogs,  the  women  and 
the  children.  Chabot  had  heard  him  throughout  the  morning 
without  paying  any  heed.  Indian  howling  and  drumming  and 
fighting  was  a  background  we  were  used  to,  just  as  we  were 
used  to  the  song  of  the  river  and  never  heard  it  unless  we 
stopped  and  deliberately  listened. 

Now,  because  of  my  words,  the  chief's  song  had  a  new  signif 
icance.  In  it  Chabot  was  finding  a  threat  against  his  life. 
Although  I  was  glad  to  have  diverted  his  attention  from  me,  I 
began  to  regret  having  mentioned  poison.  It  would  never  do 
for  him  to  show  he  was  afraid.  We  were  but  a  handful  of 
white  men  possessing  treasure  the  natives  yearned  for — rum. 
We  were  surrounded  by  one  of  the  largest  tribes  on  the  conti 
nent,  a  people  numerous  and  brave  enough  to  drive  the  Sioux 
south.  We  held  our  place  at  the  top  of  the  heap  only  by  hold 
ing  our  heads  high  and  forcing  the  impression  that  we  belonged 
there. 

I  had  often  travelled  alone  to  the  Pembina  Mountains  and  all 
through  the  Reed  and  Red  Lake  Rivers  districts  and  up  the 
Red  far  beyond  Grandes  Fourches,  in  seeking  Indian  families 
to  kill  skins  for  us.  But  with  the  exception  of  eccentric  attacks 
by  drunken  men  I  had  never  been  in  actual  danger.  There  had 
been  many  times,  however,  when  my  scalp  would  have  dried  in 
smoke  over  a  tent-pole  had  I  shown  the  white  feather.  There 
was  only  one  Indian  along  the  whole  river  in  whom  I  put  any 


16  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

trust.  It  was  a  whimsical  truth  that  this  exception  should  be 
Flat  Mouth,  a  chief  of  the  greatest  band  of  robbers  in  the 
whole  Chippewa  Nation.  So  it  was  with  lively  concern  that  I 
watched  the  changing  expression  in  Chabot's  eyes  and  feared 
that  his  face  under  the  heavy  beard  was  developing  lines  of 
weakness. 

"The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  be  firm  with  them,"  I  remarked. 

"Yes,  yes.  Of  course.  We  must  be  firm,"  he  muttered, 
trying  to  frown  at  the  wolf-hunter.  Then  with  a  shrug  of  his 
powerful  shoulders  he  said,  "We'll  be  getting  out  pretty  soon. 
Very  soon." 

"Not  for  a  month  at  the  quickest,"  I  reminded. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  settle  their  accounts  and  hire  the  summer 
men,  the  brigade  starts,"  he  sullenly  replied. 

"But  the  X.  Y.  and  the  H.  B.  canoes  won't  start  till  some 
time  in  May,"  I  protested. 

"They  can  start  when  they  please,"  he  growled.  "The  bri 
gade  from  this  post  pulls  out  when  I  give  the  word.  I  shall 
have  the  packs  made  up  very  soon." 

This  was  a  startling  announcement.  I  was  keen  enough  to 
go  down  the  river,  but  a  premature  departure  would  cause  a 
commotion  among  the  company  heads.  However,  I  did  not  be 
lieve  he  could  complete  his  arrangements  for  the  summer  men 
as  speedily  as  he  intimated. 

"If  we  go  out  before  everything  is  caught  up,  the  opposition 
will  steal  our  trade  and  our  hunters,"  I  was  reminding,  when 
a  shot  from  the  plains  side  of  the  stockade,  quickly  followed 
by  excited  whoops,  saved  me  a  stinging  rebuke  and  sent  him 
hastening  to  the  window. 

It  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary.  Prior  to  our  conversa 
tion  Chabot  would  have  thought  nothing  of  it.  Now  he  looked 
apprehensively  from  the  window,  sighed  in  great  relief,  and 
allowed  his  face  to  twist  with  mirth.  He  shouted  boisterously 
and  clapped  his  hands.  One  would  have  thought  it  a  great 
feat.  A  scraggy  bull  that  had  lost  its  sight  in  some  recent 
prairie  fire  had  wandered  near  the  stockade.  A  hunter  had 
fired  a  ball  into  its  side. 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  17 

Now  the  poor  brute  was  running  wildly  about,  colliding 
with  trees  and  stumps,  pursued  and  tormented  by  half  a  dozen 
Indians.  Blind  buffaloes  were  a  very  common  sight,  especially 
in  the  late  fall  when  the  plains  burn  in  large  areas  until  extin 
guished  by  heavy  snow  or  prolonged  rains.  With  all  their  hair 
burned  off  and  their  skin  shrivelled  up  they  prompt  a  humane 
man  to  end  their  misery  with  a  ball.  But  this  spectacle  was 
sickening  and  I  wasn't  over-fastidious.  I  turned  to  get  my  gun 
and  end  the  miserable  sport  but  was  anticipated  by  a  buck,  who 
ran  in  and  leaped  on  the  brute's  back,  then  to  his  side  and  des 
patched  him  with  an  axe. 

Thrusting  his  head  from  the  window,  Chabot  applauded  in 
a  stentorian  voice. 

"Well  done,  Mauvaise  Hache!  Good  work!  Come  inside 
and  have  some  new  milk  (rum)  !" 

It  was  nauseating.  Rewarding  an  idler's  attack  on  a  blind 
Dull  as  if  he  had  penetrated  deep  beyond  the  old  Sioux  war-road 
and  had  brought  back  a  dozen  packs  of  prime  furs  to  trade! 
The  unexpected  invitation  not  only  brought  Bad  Ax,  proudly 
flourishing  his  bloody  weapon,  but  all  the  others,  whom  I  had 
refused  during  the  morning  while  Chabot  was  drinking  with 
the  express.  I  went  down  with  him  and,  to  make  matters 
worse,  he  drank  with  them.  The  condescension  of  the  fool  was 
disgusting.  Once  you  drink  with  a  man  whom  you  wish  to  feel 
your  inferior  he  will  proclaim  himself  your  equal.  To  watch 
him  pour  the  rum  and  pat  Bad  Ax  on  the  shoulder  and  bellow 
out  praise  would  make  one  think  the  lazy  dog  had  brought  in 
ten  tents  of  his  people,  all  heavily  loaded  with  trade.  The 
owner  of  the  wolf  pups  edged  toward  the  master  and  I  stepped 
to  his  side  and  made  sure  his  hands  were  empty  and  no  knife 
was  in  his  clout. 

Chabot  no  sooner  glimpsed  him  than  he  eagerly  extended  a 
brimming  mug.  The  fellow  snatched  it,  his  little  eyes  flick 
ering  like  a  snake's,  and  vague  wonderment  at  his  luck,  at  the 
meaning  of  it  all,  showed  in  his  heavy  face.  While  they  were 
guzzling  their  first  dram  old  Tabashaw  sniffed  the  air  and 


1 8  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

threw  aside  his  drum  and  staggered  into  the  room,  loudly  pro 
claiming  : 

"New  milk!  Give  it  to  me!  It  gives  a  good  taste  to  the 
smoke.  Let  us  have  plenty  of  new  milk  so  the  children  won't 
cry!" 

I  wanted  to  cuff  the  old  vagabond's  ears  until  he  couldn't 
hear  the  last  trump,  for  his  drunken  speech  contained  a  most 
vicious  threat.  It  was  the  same  as  if  he  had  said  we  would  all 
be  killed  if  he  was  refused  a  drink,  thereby  leaving  our  children 
to  mourn.  An  hour  before  Chabot  would  have  kicked  him 
back  to  his  damnable  drumming,  garnishing  his  flight  with  a 
volley  of  curses.  Now  he  actually  grinned  and  poured  him  a 
mug  of  "wine." 

During  our  first  season  on  the  river  we  could  dilute  a  quart 
of  river  water  with  a  gill  of  alcohol  and  trade  it  for  six  prime 
beaver  skins.  I've  traded  a  three-point  blanket  and  a  nine- 
gallon  keg  of  high  wine,  highly  diluted,  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  beaver;  less  than  fifteen  dollars'  worth  of  stuff  for 
more  than  four  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  skins,  Halifax  cur 
rency.  But  our  Indians  would  no  longer  stand  so  much  water 
and  the  profits  were  a  bit  less.  Now  their  milk  must  be  strong. 
It  was;  the  effects  were  speedy. 

Old  Tabashaw  howled  out  another  poorly  veiled  threat  by 
saying  a  hunter  had  found  a  sign  that  meant  the  destruction  of 
the  post  and  all  the  white  men  on  the  river.  He  referred  to  a 
badger  that  had  chased  a  skunk  into  a  hollow  stump  and  had 
been  caught  in  a  trap  hidden  there.  This  prophecy  was  bound 
to  have  an  evil  effect,  yet  Chabot  made  no  move  to  counteract 
it.  So  I  grabbed  the  old  villain  by  the  throat  with  one  hand 
and  snatched  Bad  Ax's  weapon  with  the  other  and,  as  he  crashed 
over  backward  with  me  on  top,  I  loudly  promised  to  leave  his 
hair  and  brains  sticking  to  the  floor  unless  he  explained  what  he 
meant  by  such  talk.  He  wasn't  so  drunk  but  what  he  could  be 
cunning,  and  he  protested : 

"The  Sioux  will  come.  But  the  Chippewas  will  die  fighting 
for  their  white  friends." 

I  accepted  this  amendment,  having  scored  my  point  of  show- 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  19 

ing  the  men  we  would  stand  no  nonsense;  only  it  should  have 
been  Black  Chabot  and  not  a  subordinate  who  took  action.  A 
year  before,  when  Mr.  Henry  was  at  the  post,  Tabashaw  had 
started  much  the  same  kind  of  talk  as  a  preface  for  a  general 
massacre.  But  Mr.  Henry  had  taken  the  notion  out  of  him 
before  he  could  barely  begin. 

Chabot  looked  troubled  but  did  not  upbraid  me;  nor  did  he 
rebuke  the  Indians.  With  the  chief  silenced  the  effects  of  the 
drink  returned  to  its  usual  ruts.  A  young  buck  decided  his 
woman  was  unfaithful  and  stabbed  her  in  the  knee  as  she  was 
stealing  a  drink  out  of  his  mug.  And  he  would  have  done  for 
her  had  I  not  nearly  brained  him  with  a  stool.  It  was  not  my 
place,  however,  to  keep  the  men  from  murdering  each  other. 
Even  had  the  master  been  absent,  it  would  not  have  been  cus 
tomary  to  interfere  with  their  drinking  beyond  driving  them 
clear  of  the  fort. 

To  be  rid  of  the  scene  I  went  for  my  horse  to  ride  out  on  the 
plains  to  try  my  new  double-barrel  gun  on  the  buffalo.  The 
horse  came  from  the  Mandans  and  was  a  noble  buffalo  horse. 
He  was  crazy  for  the  hunt,  but  I  quickly  found  my  heart  was 
not  in  the  sport.  He  repeatedly  ran  me  along  beside  bull  or 
cow  and  waited  for  me  to  shoot,  while  the  only  ambition  I 
could  entertain  was  to  follow  the  river  north,  to  get  clear  of 
Chabot. 

The  sun  was  screened  off  by  clouds  of  pigeons  and  the  earth 
was  cluttered  with  buffaloes;  I  did  not  fire  a  single  shot, 
although  I  rode  several  miles  from  the  fort.  I  was  so  absent- 
minded  that  I  kept  but  little  reckoning  of  my  wanderings  until 
my  mount  halted  beside  a  calf.  It  was  lyingtdown  and  hiding 
its  head  in  the  grass  after  its  silly  fashion.  It  had  followed 
its  mother  until  tired  out. 

As  I  was  mounted  it  was  not  afraid  of  me  but  staggered  to 
its  shaky  legs  and  would  have  followed  my  horse  back  inside 
the  stockade  had  not  its  mother  at  that  moment  come  tearing 
back  to  the  rescue.  My  horse  raced  me  into  a  desirable  posi 
tion.  But  we  had  buffalo  enough  and  our  stock  of  frozen  meat 
was  thawing  and  spoiling.  So  I  galloped  away  and  left  the  calf 


20  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

to  be  consoled  by  the  mother  until  the  river  or  an  arrow  meas 
ured  out  its  destiny. 

On  my  return  to  the  fort  I  found  the  place  in  an  uproar,  the 
women  now  having  procured  rum  and  adding  their  jealousies 
and  whimsies  to  the  general  confusion.  As  I  entered,  Taba- 
shaw,  in  an  exuberance  of  ferocity,  threw  his  drum  from  him 
and  trampled  upon  it  and  smashed  it  and  loudly  proclaimed 
that  thus  would  he  stamp  out  all  white  men.  The  Indians  were 
overrunning  the  place.  A  few  years  before  there  had  been  no 
stockades  about  the  forts  in  the  Northwest,  and  the  red  nui 
sances  came  and  went  as  they  would.  When  Mr.  Henry  built 
the  stockade  round  the  Park  River  post  they  had  been  very 
wrathy  until  we  made  them  believe  the  barrier  was  intended  to 
keep  out  the  Sioux.  The  Lord  knows  we  had  gone  through 
enough  in  teaching  them  their  place  without  letting  down  the 
bars  now.  Chabot  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  the  bucks  and  the 
women  were  everywhere  and  several  boys  were  openly  fighting 
over  sugar  one  of  them  had  filched. 

I  came  just  in  time  to  witness  the  climax  of  one  family  row. 
Old  Crow's  young  wife  had  resented  his  trying  to  disfigure  her 
for  life  by  burning  her  rather  comely  features  with  a  brand 
from  the  fireplace  and  was  leaving  him.  The  old  devil  pursued 
her  through  the  gate  to  make  her  leave  their  boy  with  him.  The 
child,  not  more  than  seven  or  eight,  guarded  his  mother's  retreat 
with  great  sportsmanship  by  shooting  several  arrows  at  his 
father.  The  bow  was  small  and  the  arrows  were  not  sent 
with  much  force,  but  one  did  wound  the  old  sot  in  the  cheek, 
whereat  the  youngster  claimed  a  coup  and  yelled  like  a  young 
demon. 

The  sight  of  the  savages  swarming  over  our  quarters,  hand 
ling  and  appropriating  our  effects,  maddened  me.  Mr.  Henry 
had  been  stern  in  Indian  discipline.  What  I  beheld  was  a  pre 
lude  to  a  massacre.  Unless  the  license  was  immediately 
squelched  every  white  man  on  the  river  would  fight  for  his 
life  and  most  likely  lose  it.  I  grabbed  a  tent-pole  and  began 
swinging  it  in  a  circle,  bringing  them  down  in  rows,  regardless 
of  sex.  Those  who  could  not  crawl  out  were  thrown  out.  As 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  21 

Tabashaw  beheld  his  people  making  this  unceremonious  exit  he 
reasserted  himself  and  called  for  volunteers  to  capture  the  fort 
and  make  an  end  of  the  white  men. 

"We  will  kill  them  all  and  trade  the  furs  at  the  Scratching 
post  for  new  milk!"  he  yelled. 

His  speech  appealed  to  their  drunken  minds.  One  man,  who 
had  been  dancing  wildly  before  the  stockade  gate,  waving  his 
axe  and  calling  the  Sioux  "old  women"  and  defying  them  to 
come  out  of  the  plains  and  give  him  battle,  turned  around  and 
threw  the  axe  at  me.  I  had  my  gun  and  my  first  instinct  was 
to  shoot.  But  the  man  was  crazy,  the  others  were  crazy,  and 
the  lesson  would  be  lost.  An  Indian  in  rum  never  profits  by  an 
object  lesson.  So  I  stood  on  my  guard,  watching  out  for  axes 
or  arrows,  and  called  over  my  shoulder  to  Chabot.  Apparently 
the  test  had  come  and  the  long  threatened  uprising  was  about 
to  be  a  fact.  Chabot  heard  me,  or  else  he  happened  to  be  ap 
pearing  on  the  scene,  for  I  heard  his  heavy  step  behind  me  as  I 
faced  the  infuriated  Indians. 

"Kill  them  all!    Kill  old  Black  Face!"  incited  Tabashaw. 

Chabot's  countenance,  despite  his  beard,  betrayed  a  great 
fear,  and  yet  it  was  not  the  Chippewas  he  feared,  for  without 
seeming  to  sense  the  climax  now  thrust  upon  us  he  passed  by 
me  and  descended  among  the  gesticulating  figures.  Buffeting 
them  aside  and  walking  like  a  blind  man  feeling  his  way,  he 
advanced  to  the  stockade  gate  and  closed  it  and  dropped  the 
bar  in  place  without  a  hand  being  raised  against  him.  Whether 
his  bold  action  took  them  so  by  surprise  as  to  leave  them  inca 
pable  of  hostile  action,  or  whether  they  were  so  drunk  as  not  to 
realize  the  master  of  the  post  was  in  their  power,  I  can't  say. 
Anyway,  he  gained  the  gate  and  then  turned  back,  but  now  he 
made  the  mistake  of  trying  to  run. 

Instantly  they  became  galvanized  into  venomous  activity  and 
only  their  bloodthirsty  eagerness  saved  him.  They  crowded 
so  closely  about  him  they  could  not  wield  their  weapons  effect 
ively.  Chabot  continued  oblivious  to  their  purpose.  I  raised 
my  gun,  trying  to  decide  just  where  the  two  barrels  would  do 


22  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

the  most  good,  when  the  master  found  his  voice.  Raising  both 
arms  and  throwing  back  his  big  head,  he  roared  out : 

"The  Sioux!    The  Sioux  are  upon  us!" 

There  was  nothing  so  likely  to  sober  the  Chippewas  as  this 
alarm.  Although  remaining  very  drunk  in  the  body  their  minds 
reacted  mechanically  at  the  dread  words  and  their  hostility  to 
us  instantly  vanished.  Old  Tabashaw  clawed  at  Chabot's  arm 
and  pleaded  for  protection.  Many  times  I  had  believed  the 
Sioux  were  upon  us  in  force,  but  never  had  I  betrayed  my  fears. 
Let  the  master  show  concern  and  the  natives  become  worthless. 
They  will  leave  a  stout  stockade  that  can  defy  several  hundred 
Sioux,  and  scatter  helter-skelter  to  the  woods  to  be  run  down 
and  slaughtered.  Chabot's  wild  outcry  threw  them  into  a  ter 
rible  panic,  and  they  raised  a  tremendous  clamour.  These  were 
the  very  men  who  another  day  would  pass  war  tobacco  and 
penetrate  deep  into  the  Sioux  country  and  seek  desperate  odds. 

It  was  always  thus,  one  side  attacking,  one  giving  away; 
seldom  did  two  forces  grow  brave  at  the  same  time.  Therein 
they  differed  from  white  men.  They  required  a  show  of  weak 
ness  to  arouse  their  courage ;  then  they  could  be  quite  terrific. 

Old  Crow's  runaway  wife  and  child  now  returned  to  the 
gate  and  began  pounding  it  and  screaming  to  be  admitted. 
They  could  see  no  foe,  but  from  their  noise  one  would  think 
the  devil  was  within  a  rod  of  them. 

Jumping  down  into  the  mob,  I  caught  Chabot  by  the  arm 
and  dragged  him  into  the  door,  demanding — 

"What  have  you  seen?" 

He  eyed  me  wildly,  as  if  not  recognizing  me.  It  was  not 
until  I  had  him  over  the  threshold  and  had  shaken  him  smartly 
did  he  find  his  voice. 

"The  hills  is  full  of  their  smokes!"  he  bellowed. 

I  ran  to  a  rear  window  and  looked  to  the  west.  Only  the 
buffaloes  and  their  ghostly  trailers,  the  grey  wolves,  were  on  the 
plain.  Smoke  was  crawling  high  in  the  direction  of  the  Pem- 
bina  Mountains.  But  it  was  nothing  unusual  at  this  time  of 
year.  Beaver  hunters,  about  to  return,  invariably  made  a 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  23 

smoke  to  announce  their  coming.  I  told  Chabot  as  much,  but 
he  insisted  the  smoke  was  made  by  our  inveterate  enemy;  and 
he  began  breaking  open  the  gun  cases.  Some  of  the  raccoon 
hunters  now  arrived  from  the  woods  and  joined  Old  Crow's 
wife  and  child  in  demanding  admittance,  one  of  them  fren- 
ziedly  trying  to  chop  a  hole  through  the  gate.  Those  inside 
were  crowding  and  pushing  against  the  gate  in  an  attempt  to 
get  out.  Hell  was  loose. 

I  left  Chabot  working  over  the  gun  cases  and  fought  my 
way  to  the  gate  and  removed  the  bar,  then  battled  until  it  had 
space  to  swing  open.  In  rushed  the  hunters;  outward  surged 
those  already  inside.  The  impact  of  the  two  opposing  bodies 
brought  the  entire  group  to  a  standstill  for  a  moment.  Plac 
ing  my  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  two  bucks,  I  raised  myself 
above  their  heads  and  harangued  them,  saying: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you  all  old  women? 
Does  a  little  smoke  scare  you?  Where  is  Flat  Mouth?  He 
isn't  a  coward." 

Old  Tabashaw  began  babbling  the  omen  of  the  skunk  chased 
by  the  badger.  The  woman  who  had  dreamed  of  a  Sioux 
warrior  counting  the  men  in  the  Chippewa  tents  shrilly  added 
her  prophecy.  Then,  to  my  relief,  Flat  Mouth  came  running 
from  the  river.  He  was  the  only  composed  one  in  the  lot. 
Pointing  to  the  smoke  and  then  to  my  horse  outside  the  gate, 
I  explained  the  situation  and  asked  him  to  ride  out  on  the 
plains  and  learn  the  truth.  Without  a  word  he  leaped  on  the 
horse  and  dashed  away,  riding  straight  for  the  signal. 

His  prompt  readiness  to  investigate  tended  to  calm  the  others 
and  they  intelligently  commenced  preparations  for  our  defence. 
In  about  an  hour  Flat  Mouth  came  galloping  back.  We  opened 
the  gate,  but  he  dismounted  outside  and  entered  leisurely, 
announcing: 

"Beaver  smokes.  Some  Crees  and  Assiniboins  are  coming 
with  the  hut  people  from  the  hills,  bringing  their  trade  here 
instead  of  leaving  it  at  the  hut." 

At  once  the  Chippewas  were  hysterical  with  joy  and  they 


24  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

danced  and  clapped  their  hands  and  proclaimed  their  intentions 
of  exchanging  tobacco  with  the  newcomers  and  arranging  for 
a  big  war  party  against  the  Sioux.  As  changeable  as  children, 
they  were  now  lusting  to  go  seek  the  enemy. 

I  took  Flat  Mouth  aside  to  satisfy  myself  his  information 
was  correct.  He  was  sure,  he  said.  Although  he  had  seen 
the  hill  party  at  a  considerable  distance  he  had  recognized  the 
carts  used  by  our  three  men  in  taking  trade  goods  to  the  hill 
hut.  Being  freed  from  a  Sioux  menace  did  not  leave  me 
altogether  happy,  however.  It  meant  another  kind  of  unpleas 
antness,  that  was  all.  The  new  trade  being  brought  in  would 
call  for  more  drinking;  when  the  Crees  and  Assiniboins  have  a 
drinking  match  with  their  friends  the  Chippewas  it's  high  time 
to  hide  all  weapons. 

Going  inside,  I  told  Chabot  what  the  Pillager  had  learned. 
He  quit  the  gun  cases  and  in  his  usual  bluster  went  to  the  door 
and  berated  the  Indians  for  being  cowards.  Returning  to  me, 
he  fumbled  inside  his  leather  coat  and  finally  fished  out  a  des 
patch,  brought  by  the  express,  and  informed: 

"I  have  orders  to  send  you  to  the  X.  Y.  post  on  the  Scratch 
ing.  You  are  to  make  a  bargain  with  Red  Dearness  to  the 
effect  that  neither  the  X.  Y.  nor  the  N.  W.  shall  send  out 
any  men  to  drum  up  trade.  The  N.  W.  is  anxious  to  agree 
not  to  accept  any  trade  unless  it's  brought  in  to  a  post.  When 
the  brigade  goes  out,  I  will  see  the  H.  B.  factor  myself  and 
strike  a  similar  bargain." 

"When  does  the  brigade  start?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  evaded,  lowering  his  eyes.  "But  you  are 
to  start  to-morrow." 

"I  shall  want  a  man  to  go  with  me." 

"Take  old  Tabashaw  and  drown  him  and  I'll  give  you  a 
pack  of  beaver,"  he  gritted.  "I'll  give  him  a  hundred  drops  of 
laudanum  in  his  next  dram  and  see  if  that  will  stop  his  yawp. 
Take  who  you  want  to." 

I  picked  Flat  Mouth.  The  trip  I  had  secretly  planned  was 
now  an  open  path  for  me  without  my  having  said  a  word.  In- 


THE  ICE  GOES  OUT  25 

wardly  I  rejoiced  and  was  impatient  for  the  morning  to  come. 
Only  I  wished  I  knew  more  about  Chabot's  plans  for  going 
down  the  river.  I  was  intensely  loyal  to  the  N.  W.  and  hoped 
he  had  changed  his  mind  about  a  too  early  departure. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   BRIGADE   GOES  OUT 

EARLY  next  morning  a  Red  Sucker  band  of  Indians 
came  in  with  their  families  from  Turtle  River  above 
us,  where  they  had  wintered.  They  brought  sixty 
beaver,  a  bale  of  fox,  another  of  wolf,  a  few  fisher  and  two 
martens ;  also  a  skin  canoe  loaded  with  bear  fat,  melted  the  fall 
before  and  poured  into  bags  of  red  deerskin.  They  had  quite 
a  quantity  of  pemmican,  which  had  spoiled  because  their  fear 
of  the  Sioux  had  prevented  their  taking  the  ordinary  precau 
tions  to  dry  out  the  skin  canoe  at  least  once  in  each  twenty- 
four  hours.  The  skin  canoe  is  made  of  raw  buffalo  hides 
stretched  over  a  willow  frame  with  the  hair  inside.  It  will 
carry  a  heavy  load  but  is  no  good  except  for  floating  down 
stream.  Unless  emptied  and  dried  over  a  fire  or  by  the  sun 
once  a  day,  it  becomes  waterlogged  and  will  sink. 

One  of  the  party  had  found  a  buffalo  with  a  broken  leg. 
Although  their  own  people  frequently  wounded  buffalo,  which 
escaped,  they  took  it  for  granted  this  creature  had  been  hunted 
by  the  Sioux.  They  had  precipitately  decamped,  leaving  their 
sugar  making,  driven  by  fear  to  make  the  post.  They  did  not 
dare  stop  and  dry  the  big  canoe  until  it  began  to  settle.  Before 
they  could  unload,  the  pemmican  was  soaked. 

Like  excited  children  telling  some  tremendous  bear  story 
they  described  the  Sioux  signs.  Had  we  not  already  passed 
through  a  siege  of  nerves  the  day  before  their  recital  would 
have  had  our  Indians  badly  frightened.  As  it  was,  their  alarm 
fell  on  deaf  ears.  No  one  showed  any  interest  in  them  until 
one  of  the  band  informed  Chabot  he  had  killed  a  big  grizzly 
and  must  have  rum  to  appease  the  spirit  of  the  slain  monster, 

26 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  27 

also  half  a  yard  of  red  cloth  to  hang  up  as  an  additional  concil 
iation. 

This  request,  like  the  demand  for  rum  to  wash  out  grief  over 
the  dead,  was  reasonable.  There  are  times  when  it  is  impera 
tive  the  Indian  should  receive  free  rum  rations,  such  as  when 
his  deepest  superstitions  are  involved.  I  measured  out  the  drink 
and  the  post  idlers  immediately  began  begging  an  allowance 
from  the  newcomers.  Old  Tabashaw,  who  had  withstood  a 
hundred  drops  of  laudanum  given  in  five  doses  spread  over  an 
hour,  was  very  wide  awake  and  urging  the  Red  Suckers  to  take 
war  tobacco  with  them  to  their  summer  home  on  the  Grand 
Passage  on  the  Assiniboin  for  distribution  among  the  Crees. 
The  drinking  bout  promptly  started,  but  there  was  no  danger 
of  the  men  repeating  yesterday's  performance,  as  they  were 
still  afraid  of  the  Sioux  and  when  the  shadow  was  over  them 
they  could  be  quiet  enough  in  their  drams.  The  Red  Sucker 
band  as  hunters  was  worth  all  the  Chippewas  on  the  Lower 
Red,  although  Tabashaw's  men  were  keen  enough  for  fur 
during  my  first  season  in  the  department. 

I  found  Flat  Mouth  at  the  river  ready  to  push  off  my  canoe. 
Chabot  came  running  after  me,  calling  out — 

"Stop  at  the  Reed  and  tell  Probos  to  take  his  packs  to  our 
Scratching  post  at  once!" 

"Yes,  sir.  But  if  there  is  a  chance  of  the  brigade  going  out 
at  once,  I  would  like  to  know  it,  as  I  have  some  stuff  of  my 
own  I  want  to  pack  up,"  I  replied. 

"Oh,  you'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  do  that,"  assured  Chabot. 

My  errand  appealed  to  me  aside  from  affording  me  a  vaca 
tion.  I  was  curious  to  meet  Red  Dearness.  Chabot  had  given 
a  garbled  description  of  him,  likening  him  to  a  red  ape.  But 
they  had  met  only  the  once  and,  as  Dearness  had  accused  my 
superior  of  sending  trappers  to  encroach  on  the  X.  Y.  line  and 
they  had  come  near  to  fighting,  which  must  have  meant  death 
for  one,  if  not  both,  I  took  but  little  stock  in  the  master's 
account. 

Flat  Mouth  had  seen  much  of  the  man  when  he  was  on  the 
upper  Saskatchewan  and  I  questioned  him  for  details.  The 


28  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

Pillager  briefly  informed  me  that  Dearness's  whiskers  were 
fully  as  long  as  Chabot's  and  a  vivid  red,  hence  his  nickname. 

"His  woman?    What  tribe  did  he  take  her  from?" 

He  stared  ahead  at  the  brown  current  and  did  not  seem  to 
hear  me.  I  repeated  my  query  and  he  shook  his  head.  Beyond 
his  description  of  the  man's  beard,  I  could  get  nothing  from 
him.  His  silence,  however,  and  his  way  of  speaking  gave  the 
impression  he  stood  in  awe  of  Dearness.  The  colour  of  the 
man's  beard  might  account  for  this,  the  Indian's  love  for  red 
amounting  to  reverence. 

Without  incident  we  covered  the  ten  miles  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Reed  and  hunted  up  his  camp  on  the  north  bank.  Neither 
he  nor  any  of  his  Indians  was  to  be  seen.  Flat  Mouth  said  he 
was  up  at  Reed  Lake  after  sturgeon.  As  the  lake  is  surrounded 
by  a  half-mile  belt  of  swamp  grass  and  reeds,  I  had  no  desire 
to  search  for  him.  Once  I  had  tried  to  follow  an  old  Indian 
and  French  path  from  this  patch  of  water  to  Lake  of  the 
Woods,  but  I  soon  decided  the  roundabout  way  was  the  quick 
est.  For  taking  out  packs  it  was  the  only  route.  Not  being 
disposed  to  enter  the  marshy  country,  I  made  myself  comfort 
able  in  the  camp  and  sent  the  Pillager  on  discovery.  In  a 
short  time  he  returned  with  Probos  and  several  Indians,  the 
latter  clamouring  for  "milk."  I  gave  them  all  a  few  inches  of 
tobacco,  delivered  Chabot's  orders  to  the  clerk  and  resumed  my 
journey. 

After  leaving  the  Reed  we  came  upon  five  bears  drinking 
at  the  river.  I  nearly  broke  Flat  Mouth's  heart  by  refusing 
to  stop  while  he  shot  them.  The  fur  was  excellent  at  this 
season  and  a  few  pelts  were  not  to  be  despised,  but  there  was 
something  in  the  back  of  my  mind  that  impelled  me  to  finish 
my  business  and  return  to  the  Pembina.  Twenty-four  hours 
since  I  had  been  desperate  to  quit  the  post ;  now  I  was  keen  to 
return.  I  couldn't  get  rid  of  the  notion  that  the  brigade  might 
start  before  I  was  ready  to  accompany  it. 

However,  I  cheered  my  red  friend  by  reminding  him  that 
bear  was  plenty  about  the  Pembina  if  an  Indian  would  forget 
the  Sioux  and  go  after  them.  He  proclaimed  his  willingness 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  29 

to  go,  even  to  the  thickly  wooded  country  of  the  Cheyenne 
just  south  of  Devil's  Lake,  where,  he  declared,  the  grizzlies 
went  in  vast  droves  and  the  region  must  verily  be  the  abode  o£ 
the  great  bear  manito.  The  explanation  for  this  abundance  of 
bears  was  simple  enough,  as  that  region  was  the  disputed 
northern  boundary  of  the  Sioux  hunting  range. 

Any  Indian  venturing  there  in  summer  was  pretty  sure  to 
remain  while  his  hair  travelled  south.  As  there  was  no  hunting 
to  prevent  the  brutes  from  multiplying  rapidly,  I  suppose  they 
did  thrive  in  enormous  numbers.  Flat  Mouth  was  pleased 
with  my  reasoning,  as  it  gave  him  a  new  viewpoint  and  inflamed 
him  to  go  there.  Heretofore,  he  said,  he  had  kept  away  because 
of  the  great  bear  spirit.  But  if  all  he  had  to  fear  was  the 
Sioux  and  almost  certain  death,  he  was  keen  for  the  trip.  He 
measured  up  higher  in  courage  than  any  other  redskin  I  ever 
met. 

For  miles  we  swapped  bear  talk.  He  entertained  me  by 
describing  the  difference  in  the  habits  of  grizzlies  within  so 
narrow  an  area  as  contained  between  the  Red  River  and  the 
Pembina  Mountains.  I  have  no  reason  for  doubting  his  state 
ment  that  in  the  hills,  where  the  soil  is  dry  and  sandy,  with 
the  frost  seldom  penetrating  more  than  a  foot,  the  bears,  both 
grizzly  and  black,  den  up  in  the  ground.  Our  Red  River  bears 
took  to  hollow  trees.  Flat  Mouth  said  they  did  this  because 
the  bear  manito  had  taught  them  how  the  frost  sinks  into  the 
muddy  banks  for  more  than  four  feet;  therefore  they  imitated 
the  raccoons. 

I  had  never  gone  after  bear  in  the  hills,  but  before  Chabot 
took  over  the  post  one  of  the  men  brought  me  a  cub  which  in 
a  way  bore  out  the  Pillager's  words.  The  cub  was  as  tame  as 
a  kitten  and  trotted  after  me  even  when  I  quit  the  fort  and 
took  to  the  woods.  When  cold  weather  came  I  had  the  men 
open  up  a  big  hollow  tree  near  the  stockade  and  chop  up  some 
boughs  and  put  inside  so  he  might  be  unusually  cosy.  The 
place  was  almost  snug  enough  for  a  human  being.  It  measured 
six  feet  across,  with  a  two-foot  shell  to  keep  out  the  cold. 
But  the  cub  promptly  showed  his  hills  instinct  by  refusing  the 


30  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

nest  and  insisting  on  digging  a  hole  to  live  in.  I  never  saw 
him  after  he  retired  for  the  winter,  but  I  suppose  he  was  frozen 
out  and  took  to  the  hills. 

With  stories  and  wood  lore  we  beguiled  the  passage  down. 
Flat  Mouth  talked  glibly  enough  unless  you  touched  upon 
something  that  was  tabu.  Finally  we  came  to  the  Scratching, 
where  our  small  post  was  in  charge  of  a  fellow  called  Desset. 
On  the  opposite  side,  hidden  by  a  grove  of  strong  woods,  was 
the  opposition  post.  When  some  distance  above  the  post  we 
could  catch  the  din  made  by  the  Indians  as  they  swallowed 
all  the  profits  of  their  spring  hunt ;  men,  women  and  children 
all  getting  drunk  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

j  It's  nasty  work,  peddling  rum  to  Indians.  But,  after  theoriz 
ing  and  sermonizing  from  Montreal  to  the  Rocky  Mountain 
House  on  the  MacKenzie,  let  some  of  the  sanctimonious  critics 
give  out  heavy  debts  to  a  race  that  believes  successful  thieving 
is  a  greater  honour  even  than  scalp-taking,  and  then  let  them 
see  how  they'll  get  the  debts  paid  without  rum. 
t|  To  rob  a  trader,  kill  him  if  need  be,  but  get  his  goods  at  any 
costs,  would  be  a  great  coup  if  not  for  the  knowledge  such 
treatment  would  cut  off  the  supplies.  There  was  hardly  an 
Indian  in  the  Northwest  who  would  not  cheerfully  have  cut 
my  throat  for  a  keg  of  rum,  if  he  knew  it  was  the  only  keg  in 
the  world  and  that  there  could  never  be  any  more.  My  friend 
and  companion  was  proud  to  call  himself  chief  of  the  Pillagers- 
Thieves.  The  name  wasn't  given  him  by  outsiders  but  was 
bestowed  by  his  own  people  upon  themselves. 

After  all,  thievery  among  the  Indians  is  only  another  name 
for  looking  out  for  one's  best  interests;  a  characteristic  of  the 
white  man  also.  A  man  may  take  many  scalps  and  count  many 
coups,  but  the  really  valuable  man  in  a  tribe  is  he  who  can 
fetch  home  the  most  stolen  horses.  If  getting  what  they  want 
above  all  else — high  wine — results  in  their  women  being  sold 
and  debauched,  that  is  much  their  own  business,  not  the  trader's. 

As  we  drew  nearer  the  rival  posts  the  hooting  and  singing 
seemed  to  emanate  impartially  from  both  banks  and  I  deduced 
it  had  been  going  on  all  night.  No  one  was  down  at  the  river 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  31 

when  we  grounded  our  canoe.  Leaving  Flat  Mouth  to  stay 
with  the  canoe,  I  went  up  to  the  fort  to  interview  Desset,  the 
clerk.  I  found  most  of  our  people  sick,  as  they  were  every 
spring  when  they  shifted  from  meat  to  fat  sturgeon. 

The  Indians,  too,  seemed  to  be  badly  off,  men,  women  and 
children  coughing,  several  being  far  gone  with  consumption. 
Desset  obviously  had  been  generous  with  the  "milk,"  as  all  the 
Chippewas  were  drunk.  To  add  to  the  hubbub  was  the 
Indians'  excitement  at  having  found  that  morning  a  Canada 
lynx  in  a  sturgeon  net  some  ten  feet  from  the  shore. 

Desset  had  endeavoured  to  explain  that  the  cat  broke  through 
while  trying  to  cross  the  thin  ice,  which  forms  every  night  only 
to  float  out  at  midday,  and  had  become  tangled  in  the  net  and 
drowned.  But  nothing  so  simple  as  that  could  content  a  Chip- 
pewa  when  he  could  read  so  many  signs  from  the  curious  hap 
pening.  Optimistic  from  liquor,  they  read  the  sign  favourably. 
The  sturgeon  net  was  the  Chippewa  Nation.  Some  of  the  hunt 
ers  at  the  post  were  of  the  sturgeon  gens.  The  lynx,  of  course, 
was  a  symbol  for  the  Sioux.  The  Chippewas  were  to  exter 
minate  the  Sioux.  Not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  about  it  in  their 
minds,  and  already  plans  were  perfected  for  sending  the  glad 
news  and  war-tobacco  far  up  the  Assiniboin.  Had  the  Sioux 
appeared  at  that  time  in  battle  array,  the  Chippewas,  firm  in 
their  faith,  would  have  given  them  a  terrible  beating. 

Desset  had  no  control  over  them  and  spent  most  of  his  time 
in  keeping  out  of  the  way.  Several  bore  bloody  wounds.  As  it 
wasn't  my  place  to  discipline  Desset's  Indians,  I  withdrew  to  a 
cubby-hole  that  served  as  an  office  and  sought  information  con 
cerning  Red  Dearness  before  crossing  the  river. 

"He  never  comes  here.  He  doesn't  want  me  to  go  there.  I 
never  see  him,  only  when  he  passes  up  the  river  or  rides  on  the 
plains.  Until  the  snow  melted,  I  saw  nothing  of  him  or  the 
Madame." 

"What  kind  of  a  looking  woman  is  she?"    I  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  explaining: 

"The  few  times  I've  seen  her  was  when  she  was  at  a  distance. 
Then  she  wore  a  capote.  I've  heard  she's  a  Slave,  also  a  Cree. 


32  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

I  know  she  isn't  Chippewa,  or  our  hunters  would  be  going  over 
there  for  rum.  They're  afraid  of  Dearness  and  don't  bother 
him  after  the  first  time." 

We  talked  for  some  time  and  I  read  the  fellow  pretty  thor 
oughly.  He  may  have  been  a  good  office  hand  in  Montreal,  but 
he  was  sadly  out  of  tune  on  the  Lower  Red.  Theoretically  he 
understood  the  business  of  buying  furs.  I  could  see  that  if  all 
Indians  were  exactly  alike  he  could  learn  the  technique.  Inas 
much  as  they  were  individuals,  he  was  helpless.  His  babbling 
revealed  that  much. 

It  was  Chabot  who  got  him  the  post,  and  I  should  have 
disliked  him  because  of  his  patron  had  he  been  less  inoffensive 
and  helpless.  He  confessed  he  had  but  few  furs  and  that  it 
wouldn't  take  him  long  to  make  up  his  packs  once  he  knew 
the  brigade  was  going  out.  In  pity  for  the  poor  fool  I  offered 
to  go  over  his  books  and  make  sure  his  accounts  were  straight. 

"That's  the  worst  of  it,"  he  bitterly  took  on.  "The  Indians 
were  all  drunk  in  here  a  few  weeks  ago  and  threw  my  books  on 
the  fire.  I  haven't  even  an  account  showing  their  debts." 

As  he  confessed  this  I  detected  him  slyly  watching  me  to 
read  the  effect  of  his  announcement.  My  pitying  contempt  sud 
denly  evaporated  and  in  its  place  I  felt  a  strong  aversion  to  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  so  weak,  physically  and  mentally,  I  might 
have  bothered  much  to  help  him  out.  Now  I  wondered  if  it 
wasn't  a  part  of  Chabot's  scheme  in  getting  him  there  to  have 
the  books  disappear.  The  Pembina  post  would  show  fat  returns. 
The  Scratching  post  would  mark  up  a  loss.  If  Desset  was  dis 
charged  it  needn't  follow  that  anything  criminal  would  be  sus 
pected.  With  the  books  gone  and  nothing  but  mismanagement 
proven  it  would  be  possible  for  him  and  Chabot  to  share  a  fat 
profit  out  of  the  past  season,  one  which  would  make  our  gentle 
men  of  the  North  tear  their  hair  did  they  guess  they  were  being 
bilked.  These  suspicions  came  to  me  because  I  believed  Chabot 
to  be  a  bad  one  and  because  of  the  furtive  glances  Desset 
gave  me. 

I  talked  some  further  with  him  and  then  went  outside  to 
visit  the  X.  Y.  On  my  way  to  the  river  I  met  Joe  Pouliot, 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  33 

one  of  the  best  men  the  N.  W.  employed,  and  in  a  bantering 
way  he  made  the  boast  he  had  brought  in  two  hundred  prime 
skins  from  one  derouin.  This,  if  true,  was  the  most  successful 
derouin  ever  made  on  the  river. 

I  encouraged  him  to  give  me  the  details,  which  he  did 
eagerly;  and  when  he  had  finished  I  believed  him.  Now  a 
derouin — the  sending  of  men  forth  to  scare  up  trade  among 
the  Indians  instead  of  having  them  bring  their  hunt  to  the  posts 
— was  generally  frowned  upon  by  rival  companies.  It  smacked 
of  free  trading,  the  great  sin  in  a  company's  eyes.  It  tended 
to  take  the  control  of  the  fur  business  out  of  the  companies' 
hands,  besides  encouraging  the  men  to  do  a  little  sly  trading 
for  themselves,  or  to  carry  part  of  the  skins  to  some  rival. 

Furthermore,  it  was  disastrous  because  it  petted  up  the 
Indians  until  they  were  too  lazy  even  to  send  their  packs  in  by 
their  women.  Now  the  point  was  this:  Why,  if  the  N.  W. 
post  on  the  Scratching  was  securing  any  such  number  of  skins 
in  this  fashion,  should  Black  Chabot  be  eager  to  strike  a  bargain 
with  Red  Dearness,  of  the  X.  Y.,  to  suppress  the  practice  ? 

Desset  was  paid  a  hundred  a  year,  Halifax  currency,  five 
hundred  dollars  in  States'  money.  I  had  pitied  him  for  a 
weakling.  I  quickly  revised  my  opinion  when  further  question 
ing  brought  forth  the  information  from  Joe  that  the  season  had 
been  a  good  one. 

"You  don't  seem  to  have  much  for  the  brigade  to  pick  up," 
I  remarked. 

"But  we  sent  out  twenty-six  packages  of  ninety  pounds  each 
right  after  the  express  stopped  here,"  said  Joe. 

"How  was  the  express?    Pretty  drunk?"     I  asked. 

He  smiled  gently,  caressed  his  long  fair  moustaches  as  if 
wiping  off  the  dew  of  a  drink  and  replied : 

"They  was  asleep  when  our  Indians  saw  their  canoe  drifting 
sidewise.  They  woke  up  after  we  got  them  into  the  post  and 
held  a  dram  of  rum  under  their  noses.  We  sent  two  Indians 
to  look  after  them  until  they  got  through  the  swift  water 
below.  After  that  they'd  be  all  right  to  look  after  themselves." 

It  was  transparent.     Desset  and  Chabot  had  traded  for  a 


34  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

canoe-load  of  prime  furs  and  had  sent  them  on  ahead  of  the 
brigade,  consigned  to  someone  other  than  Simon  McTavish's 
company.  Indian  troubles,  a  general  failure  to  pay  their  debts, 
the  loss  of  the  account  books,  would  be  cited  to  cover  the  empty 
shelves. 

I  wasn't  hired  to  spy  on  the  Scratching  River  outfit.  If 
Mr.  Henry  should  return,  I  would  tell  him  what  I  suspected, 
give  the  facts  and  leave  the  rest  to  him.  But  the  N.  W.  had 
seen  fit  to  put  Chabot  in  Mr.  Henry's  place.  I  would  hold  my 
tongue. 

Leaving  Flat  Mouth  behind,  I  took  the  canoe  and  paddled 
into  the  mouth  of  the  Scratching  and  crossed  over.  I  landed 
in  a  willow  growth  so  thick  and  stout  I  would  not  have  at 
tempted  to  penetrate  it  if  not  for  a  narrow  path  making  down 
to  the  water's  edge.  On  the  rising  ground  back  of  this  was  a 
second  growth  of  very  big  oak,  elm  and  ash.  Cutting  through 
the  strong  timber,  I  came  out  on  a  meadow  that  reached  nearly 
to  the  Red.  As  I  entered  the  meadow  I  beheld  an  old  acquaint 
ance,  and  he  was  having  trouble  with  his  horse. 

It  was  the  "Rat,"  French,  with  a  dash  of  Chippewa.  He 
had  worked  for  us  during  Mr.  Henry's  first  season  on  the  Red 
and  was  thoroughly  untrustworthy.  After  we  turned  him  off 
he  had  joined  the  X.  Y.  as  an  interpreter.  When  we  came  to 
the  Red,  there  were  practically  no  horses  on  the  river,  although 
the  Chippewas  were  constantly  fighting  the  Sioux  who  had 
many.  During  the  last  two  years  we  had  increased  our  number 
of  animals  so  that  it  was  common  enough  sight  to  see  the  Indians 
mounted.  Besides  those  we  and  the  opposition  brought  in  were 
a  few  the  Crees  had  traded  for  new  medicines. 

But  I  never  saw  any  horses  on  the  river,  aside  from  those 
owned  and  cared  for  by  white  men,  that  were  not  in  wretched 
condition.  The  crude  wooden  saddle  commonly  used  by  the 
Indians  was  largely  to  blame,  as  it  ripped  the  hide  off  a  nag's 
back  in  no  time.  I've  often  seen  the  poor,  tortured  beasts  turn 
and  bite  their  sides  till  the  blood  streamed,  once  the  saddle  was 
removed.  The  Indians  never  paid  any  attention  to  their  condi* 
tion  nor  tried  to  correct  the  fault.  They  would  throw  the 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  35 

wooden  saddle  on  to  the  raw  flesh  and  ride  them  as  unconcern 
edly  as  a  white  man  would  use  a  canoe. 

The  Rat's  horse  was  fighting  against  the  saddle.  Its  back 
was  3  ghastly  sight.  As  I  came  on  to  the  scene  the  maddened 
brute  managed  to  break  loose  and  ran  for  the  plains.  The  Rat, 
in  a  whirlwind  of  rage,  raised  his  gun,  then  decided  the  enjoy 
ment  would  be  too  dear  and  started  in  pursuit  afoot.  I  called 
out  to  him,  and  the  moment  he  recognized  me  his  dark  face 
lighted  up  and  he  forgot  the  runaway  and  eagerly  cried : 

"Meester  Chabo'?    Where  he  ees?" 

I  replied  that  Chabot  would  come  down  the  river  as  soon 
as  he  had  packed  up  and  had  sent  the  Indians  off  some  time 
within  the  next  thirty  days.  His  manner  in  asking  the  question 
rather  puzzled  me,  for  theoretically  he  should  feel  no  enthu 
siasm  for  the  head  of  a  post  that  had  discharged  him.  It  was 
Mr.  Henry  who  had  turned  the  beggar  loose,  but  according  to 
the  Red  River  way  of  thinking  he  should  nurse  resentment 
against  all  N.  W.  representatives. 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  Mr.  Chabot  for?"  I  asked. 

"I  go  to  ride  up  the  reever  to  see  heem,  to  get  heem  to  hire 
me,"  he  explained. 

"What  are  you  quitting  the  X.  Y.  for?" 

"Meester  Chabo'  ees  one  live  man,"  he  grinned.  "Meester 
Dearness  maybe  a  dead  man  when  snow  come  some  more." 

"Who  has  charge  of  the  summer  men  while  he's  away?" 

"Hees  gal,  maybe." 

"Meaning  his  wife?" 

"When  Meester  Chabo'  hire  me  I  can  talk,"  was  the  non 
committal  reply.  "I  go  to  ride  that  horse,  now  she  run  away. 
I  paddle  up  to  meet  heem." 

"You'll  be  sure  to  find  him  at  the  fort,"  I  said.  "But  Mr. 
Dearness's  girl?  Could  she  handle  the  summer  men?" 

"Han'le  summer  men  ?  She  can  go  to  han'le  the  deveel  like 
she  want  to,"  he  emphatically  assured. 

Then,  as  if  fearing  he  had  talked  too  freely,  he  hurried  away. 

Now  I  didn't  believe  there  was  a  mixed  blood  in  the  country 
capable  of  handling  the  Indians.  Certainly  there  wasn't  a 


36  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

squaw.  Let  her  be  ever  so  brainy,  let  her  be  educated  in  Que 
bec  and  made  much  of  by  the  English  and  French,  yet  her 
Indian  blood  would  be  a  terrific  handicap  when  it  came  to 
handling  her  people.  Such  a  woman  could  have  a  big  influence 
with  her  people  and  swing  trade  to  whatever  post  she  favoured. 
But  as  trader,  having  charge  of  the  debts  and  advances  and  the 
rum,  she  couldn't  do  it.  The  hunters  would  not  respect  her 
commands.  If  she  refused  them  liquor,  they  would  take  it  more 
evilly  than  if  she  were  a  white. 

Of  course,  I  understood  the  Rat  had  a  lively  imagination- 
There  was  no  reason  to  doubt  his  statement  to  the  effect  that 
Dearness  was  ill.  We  had  received  reports  to  the  same  effect. 
When  his  season  closed  he  probably  would  send  someone  back 
to  run  things  until  fall,  when  he,  or  his  successor,  would  come 
on.  If  he  were  seriously  ill,  then  any  bargain  I  might  make 
with  him  might  be  ignored  by  his  successor. 

Orders  were  orders,  however,  and  I  hurried  on  to  the  fort. 
The  Rat  called  after  me  the  cheering  information  that  Dear- 
ness  knew  of  my  stopping  Little  Crane  from  taking  his  furs  to 
the  X.  Y.  and  had  advised  the  Indian  to  kill  me.  This  scarcely 
primed  me  for  a  cordial  reception,  yet  it  was  part  of  the  game 
we  were  playing  and  worried  me  none. 

The  fort  presented  a  scene  of  industrious  activity  despite  the 
carousal  going  on  inside  the  stockade.  Men  were  making  carts 
and  fashioning  wheels  from  solid  sections  from  three-foot  trees. 
A  smith  was  turning  out  nails.  Some  sick  Indians  were  making 
a  sturgeon  net  while  their  women  smoked  tongues. 

On  the  whole  I  really  felt  rather  jealous  of  the  discipline. 
Those  drinking  were  obviously  entitled  to  their  liquor  and  had 
paid  high  for  it.  Red  Dearness  was  like  Mr.  Henry  in  that 
respect ;  the  drams  were  for  those  who  had  earned  them.  Some 
how  I  gained  the  impression,  probably  from  Chabot's  sneering 
talk,  that  things  were  at  sixes  and  sevens  in  the  X.  Y.  post. 
The  evidences  did  not  support  any  such  notions. 

To  be  true,  all  was  not  harmony,  and  the  master  was  having 
his  rum  troubles.  As  I  entered  the  stockade  I  nearly  stumbled 
over  one  of  his  hunters  who  had  been  stabbed  six  times  in  the 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  37 

side  and  abdomen  and  whom  they  were  trying  to  heal  with 
wabeno  songs. 

Entering  the  big  room  of  the  fort,  I  met  a  young  man  with  a 
twisted  face,  who  told  me  he  was  Angus,  the  clerk,  and  would 
I  state  my  business. 

"I  want  to  speak  with  Mr.  Dearness,"  I  informed. 

"You  come  from  the  N.  W.  post  upstream?"  he  asked  in  a 
gloomy  voice. 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative  and  repeated  my  request.  With 
much  reluctance  he  told  me  I  could  not  see  the  master. 

"Scurvy  treatment  even  for  the  X.  Y.  to  give  a  N.  W.  man," 
I  hotly  retorted.  "And  I  don't  know  that  you  have  authority 
to  tell  me  your  master  won't  see  me." 

He  squirmed  uneasily,  then  blurted  out :  "He's  drunk.  He 
can't  see  anyone." 

This  did  not  square  up  with  what  I  had  heard  about  him. 
He  traded  high  wine  for  pelts,  as  did  every  Northman,  but  he 
was  exceedingly  temperate  in  his  habits.  I  suspected  the  clerk 
wished  to  hide  his  master's  illness  from  the  N.  W. 

"I  can  wait,"  I  said.  "Mr.  Chabot  sent  me  to  see  him  on 
business.  He  will  be  sobering  up  some  time." 

The  clerk  shook  his  head  discouragingly,  saying: 

"He  sleeps  like  a  dead  man.    Very,  very  drunken." 

I  was  electrified,  and  the  clerk  fairly  jumped  from  his  stool, 
as  a  clear  voice  from  an  inner  room  called  out  in  the  Chippewa 
tongue : 

"That  is  not  true,  Angus.  You  know  he  isn't  drunk  and 
hasn't  been  drunk.  Tell  the  young  man  he  is  ill  from  changing 
from  meat  to  sturgeon." 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  undoubtedly  Madame's,  or  his 
"gal's,"  for  I  was  getting  mixed  on  the  relationship.  And  it 
was  a  wonderfully  musical  voice.  I  was  tempted  to  advance 
to  the  room,  but  the  curtain  of  rawhide  was  pulled  snug  and 
the  woman  continued: 

"Ask  him  what  he  wants  here  with  your  master.  Have  you 
lost  your  tongue?" 

"I  will  ask  him,"  Angus  meekly  replied  in  Chippewa. 


38  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Let  me  tell  my  business  without  being  asked,"  I  fluently 
spoke  up,  rather  proud  of  my  knowledge  of  Chippewa.  "Mr. 
Chabot  wishes  to  make  a  bargain  with  the  X.  Y.  to  the  end 
that  neither  the  X.  Y.  nor  the  N.  W.  send  out  men  to  hunt 
for  trade." 

"He  is  sorry  when  he  hears  men  are  sent  out  on  derouin" 
she  mockingly  retorted.  "What  about  the  derouin  Pouliot 
made  this  winter?  Bah!  The  man  is  a  snake,  and  I  have  no 
trust  in  a  man  that  goes  on  his  business." 

"I  am  only  a  clerk,"  I  stiffly  replied,  glaring  at  the  curtain. 
"I'm  not  passing  any  tobacco  to  get  help  for  Chabot.  I  obey 
orders." 

She  was  silent  for  nearly  a  minute,  and  I  was  about  to  take 
my  departure,  when  she  spoke,  very  softly  this  time,  saying: 

"I  am  ashamed  of  my  words.  You  are  not  to  blame  if 
Chabot  is  Chabot.  The  good  God  made  him,  as  he  did  the 
skunk  and  white  wolf.  And  only  the  good  God  knows  why 
He  made  him." 

"For  the  fur  trade,  just  as  He  made  the  skunk  and  wolf  for 
the  fur  trade,"  I  smartly  replied. 

She  ignored  me  and  continued: 

"The  X.  Y.  will  agree  not  to  send  men  to  trade  in  the  Indian 
camps.  It  is  a  bad  way  to  trade.  The  N.  W.  has  been  doing 
it  on  this  river.  If  the  N,  W.  stops  it,  we  won't  begin." 

"You  talk  Chippewa  like  a  native,"  I  complimented. 

"And  French  like  a  Frenchwoman,  and  English  like  an  Eng 
lishwoman,"  she  quickly  answered,  using  the  two  languages. 

"And  I  don't  know  which  of  the  three  you  are,"  I  regretted. 
"Am  I  not  to  see  you?" 

The  rawhide  curtain  rattled  viciously  and  in  Chippewa  she 
commanded : 

"Make  a  writing  for  him  to  sign,  binding  the  N.  W.  and 
the  X.  Y.  not  to  make  a  derouin ff 

Clerk  Angus  wrote  rapidly,  making  two  copies.  I  signed 
them  and  waited  while  he  went  to  get  the  X.  Y.  signature.  He 
did  not  go  behind  the  closed  curtain  but  to  a  similar  recess  at 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  39 

the  opposite  end  of  the  room.  He  was  absent  for  a  few  minutes 
and  when  he  returned  he  was  followed  by  Red  Dearness. 

The  man  was  tall  and  very  muscular.  He  was  as  heavy  as 
Black  Chabot,  only  a  more  graceful  distribution  of  flesh  and 
brawn  did  not  allow  him  to  look  it.  My  first  thought  was, 
what  a  fight  the  two  would  make  of  it  if  they  ever  clashed. 
My  second  thought  was  one  of  congratulations  to  Chabot  for 
having  avoided  a  tussle. 

Red  Dearness's  face  possessed  staying  qualities  which  I  knew 
Chabot  lacked.  His  beard  was  long  and  full  and  as  red  as  the 
autumn  sun  when  the  smoke  from  prairie  fires  makes  it  look 
like  fresh  blood.  His  eyes  were  large  and  deep  blue  but  sadly 
sunken.  His  general  mien  was  that  of  great  melancholy.  My 
first  glance  told  me  it  was  not  sturgeon  diet  that  ailed  him. 
Nor  had  he  been  drinking.  He  impressed  me  as  being  marked 
by  Death,  and  yet  there  was  no  falling  away  of  the  flesh,  no 
lack  of  elasticity  in  his  step  as  he  approached  me. 

"I  have  heard  what  you  have  said  and  what  has  been  said  to 
you.  I  have  your  signature  to  a  paper,  which  pretends  to  bind 
your  company  together  with  the  X.  Y.  to  post  trading  entirely. 
I  have  signed  the  agreement.  I  will  send  no  man  to  trade, 
among  the  Indians.  They  must  bring  their  hunt  to  the  post. 
I  agree,  not  because  Chabot  asks  it,  nor  because  I  expect  him  to 
keep  his  agreement,  but  because  it  is  the  one  thing  a  post  must 
do  if  it  is  to  exist.  Your  people  have  used  me  foully.  You 
have  stolen  my  skins  from  my  Indians.  Little  Crane  was 
robbed  of  a  pack  belonging  to  me." 

Not  even  a  sick  man  can  accuse  me  of  that  without  hearing 
my  voice.  Had  he  accused  Chabot  of  robbing  the  women,  I 
would  have  admitted  the  offence;  for  that  was  a  nasty  fact. 
Evidently  he  had  not  learned  of  that  particular  coup  yet.  I 
contented  myself  with  saying: 

"I  was  the  man  who  took  the  skins  from  the  Crane.  He 
took  a  debt  and  we  wanted  it  paid.  The  skins  belonged  to  us." 

"Damnation!  He's  taken  a  debt  from  us.  Now  he  will 
never  pay,"  fumed  Dearness,  his  blue  eyes  blazing.  His  anger 


40  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

seemed  to  tire  him,  and  he  more  quietly  continued,  "I  am  doing 
you  the  compliment  of  taking  your  word  for  it." 

"You  had  better,"  I  shortly  retorted,  "or  when  you  recover 
your  health  I  should  have  to  have  a  reckoning  with  you." 

"You  young  fool !"  he  contemptuously  replied. 

The  woman  behind  the  curtain  laughed  derisively.  I  must 
'have  coloured  or  in  some  way  shown  my  anger,  for  in  a  more 
decent  tone  he  said : 

"There!  There!  Words  are  foolish  as  the  pounding  of 
sticks  on  those  cursed  medicine  drums.  If  I  spoke  harshly,  it 
was  out  of  envy  for  your  youth  and  health.  After  all,  we're 
but  a  handful  of  white  men  up  here  and  should  stick  together 
as  much  as  the  trade  will  allow.  You  will  eat  with  us." 

"Does  the  young  lady  who  laughed  at  me  eat  with  us?"  I 
asked. 

"She  keeps  quite  by  herself,"  he  slowly  replied,  staring  at  me 
in  a  peculiar  manner. 

"And  I  think  I  will  follow  her  example,"  I  decided.  "One 
word  before  I  go.  We'll  call  it  a  bonus  for  signing  the  paper. 
You  have  a  man — the  Rat — hired  as  interpreter.  He's  a  scoun 
drel." 

"They  all  are,"  he  quietly  reminded. 

"It's  not  my  business  to  warn  the  X.  Y.  against  his  tricks. 
I  have  spoken." 

"I  shall  break  his  neck  for  his  tricks  some  day,"  said  Dear- 
ness.  "However,  I  thank  you  for  your  warning.  We're  getting 
-ceremonious  enough  for  Quebec  when  the  season  is  high.  Now 
I  must  give  you  what  may  not  set  well  on  your  stomach.  Your 
master,  Black  Chabot,  is  a  rascal." 

As  he  spoke  he  leaned  forward  and  stared  round-eyed,  as 
if  expecting  a  hot  denial. 

"He's  a rascal,"  I  corrected. 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  played  round  his  bearded  lips.  The 
tinkle  of  a  little  laugh  came  from  behind  the  hide  curtain. 

"You  should  be  working  with  honest  men,  working  for  the 
X.  Y.,"  he  murmured. 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  41 

"The  N.  W.  has  the  best  men  in  the  business.  Skunks  are 
found  everywhere." 

"True,"  he  mused ;  "only  a  skunk's  pelt  is  worth  something. 
Sir  Alexander  MacKenzie  appreciates  young  men  who  can  do 
things." 

"So  does  Simon  McTavish,"  I  added. 

"It's  hopeless  for  me  to  even  suggest  it,  isn't  it?" 

"Quite.     Now  that  I've  done  my  errand  I'll  be  going." 

"You'll  not  change  your  mind  and  eat?" 

"I'll  eat  at  our  post.  It's  so  close  it  would  be  foolish  for  me 
not  to." 

He  glanced  toward  the  curtains  and  I  flushed  beneath  the  tan 
of  the  April  wind.  He  was  amusing  himself  with  thinking  I 
would  have  stayed  gladly  enough  if  the  woman  had  offered  to 
join  us. 

He  rose  and  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  either  he  was  sud 
denly  in  physical  agony,  or  else  the  sunlight  revealed  more  than 
I  had  already  noticed,  for  his  eyes  were  contracted  and  his  lips 
pressed  firmly.  We  exchanged  a  courteous  farewell  and  I  went 
to  my  canoe,  already  regretting  I  had  not  accepted  his  invita 
tion  to  eat  with  him.  In  all  probability  I  should  have  seen 
the  woman.  And  speech  with  an  educated  woman,  as  I  knew 
this  woman  was  educated,  would  be  a  heavenly  treat  after  three 
years  of  isolation. 

Until  this  day  I  had  known  of  but  one  white  woman  ever 
being  on  the  river.  She  had  come  with  some  Orkney  Islanders, 
disguised  as  a  boy.  She  betrayed  her  secret  to  one  man  at  the 
Forks,  who  debauched  her,  and  her  child  was  born  at  our  fort, 
the  first  white  child  born  on  the  Red  River  of  the  North. 

To  return  to  the  Dearness  woman ;  whether  she  was  a  white 
or  a  breed  I  couldn't  decide.  Rumour  and  gossip  had  given  me 
to  understand  she  was  mixed  blood.  But  if  such  she  must  have 
been  taken  East  when  very  young  to  be  educated  by  the  Sisters. 
I  had  met  French-Indian  and  English-Indian  girls  in  Montreal 
and  Quebec  who  would  grace  any  home. 

This  incident  of  calling  on  Red  Dearness,  so  long  in  the  tell 
ing,  was  a  great  adventure  for  me.  It  gave  me  a  new  train  of 


42  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

thought.  It  is  the  lack  of  fresh  mental  food  and  the  eternal 
chewing  over  the  same  thoughts  which  drive  men  mad  in  the 
lonely  places.  No  one  can  appreciate  the  thrill  and  zest  that 
such  a  trivial  encounter  can  afford  one  who  has  lived  in  a  savage 
rut  month  on  month. 

Accordingly  I  was  in  something  of  a  state  of  mind  when  I 
returned  to  the  post  and  found  Desset  excitedly  superintending 
the  last  of  the  packing.  The  storehouse  was  cleared  and  the 
Indian  women  and  children  were  rummaging  through  it  in  fran 
tic  search  for  articles  overlooked.  They  had  even  taken  up  the 
whitewood  flooring  in  hope  of  finding  trinkets  dropped  through 
the  cracks. 

Desset 's  activity  astonished  me.  He  was  like  a  man  fighting 
against  time. 

"Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry?"  I  asked. 

He  grinned  sheepishly,  hesitated,  gave  me  one  of  his  sly 
glances,  then  frankly  confessed: 

"I'm  so  keen  to  get  out  of  this  country.  It  makes  me  forget 
if  I  am  busy." 

"But  it  will  be  days  and  weeks  before  the  brigade  comes 
down.  You've  packed  all  your  goods.  What  will  you  do  if 
the  Indians  bring  in  a  hunt?" 

"I've  got  plenty  of  rum  out  and  ready,"  he  replied  with  a 
vacuous  laugh. 

"The  Indians  seem  to  have  had  enough,"  I  observed  as  I 
caught  an  outburst  from  the  stockade. 

"The  red  beggars  won't  have  any  more,"  he  growled. 

"You'll  have  to  give  them  presents  when  you  go  away,"  I 
reminded.  "Ho !  When  did  that  rascal  come  ?" 

I  pointed  to  the  reeling  figure  of  Old  Crow. 

"Since  you  came,"  was  the  careless  reply. 

It  surprised  me  the  Indian  would  come  alone  down  the  river, 
and  I  knew  his  wife  and  child  would  have  none  of  his  com 
pany.  I  couldn't  believe  Chabot  had  driven  him  out  of  the 
fort,  as  Chabot  had  lost  his  power  as  a  disciplinarian.  I  saun 
tered  up  to  the  stockade  gate  and  glanced  inside. 

It  was  the  usual  scene.     Old  Crow  held  my  interest,  how- 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  43 

ever.  He  not  only  had  had  too  much  liquor,  but  he  was  also 
wearing  a  red  hat  with  a  round  red  feather  in  it,  usually  a  gift 
for  a  chief.  I  knew  he  had  not  traded  a  skin  for  the  season.  I 
caught  him  by  the  arm  as  he  was  dancing  by  in  a  drunken  line 
and  asked — 

"Who  sent  you  here?" 

"Black  Face,"  he  answered,  meaning  Chabot. 

"What  did  you  bring?" 

"The  white  bark  that  talks,"  he  grunted,  lurching  away  to 
join  the  dancers. 

I  would  have  given  a  prime  skin  to  know  what  written  mes 
sage  Black  Chabot  had  sent  to  Desset.  No  doubt  but  that  it 
concerned  some  of  their  schemes  for  looting  the  N.  W.  I  found 
something  to  eat  and  heartily  wished  I  had  accepted  Red  Dear- 
ness's  invitation  to  eat  at  the  X.  Y.  Confusion  and  clamour  sur 
rounded  me,  Desset  allowing  the  Indians  to  overrun  the  fort 
as  if  it  had  been  abandoned.  One  fellow  boldly  tried  to  take 
away  my  sugar,  and  when  I  resented  it  his  woman  took  offence. 
It  was  only  by  an  extravagant  display  of  anger  that  I  brought 
them  to  their  senses.  If  the  day  had  not  been  so  far  advanced, 
I  would  have  taken  to  the  canoe  and  returned  upstream. 

Going  to  the  river,  I  found  Flat  Mouth  and  a  man  of  his 
band  dragging  the  water  for  sturgeon  by  suspending  a  long  net 
between  two  canoes  and  sweeping  upstream.  Mr.  Henry  was 
the  first  to  introduce  such  a  net  to  the  Red.  While  I  watched 
them,  a  man  came  in  with  eight  kegs  of  new  sugar  and  six 
beaver  skins.  Desset  came  down  to  the  river  as  the  man  landed, 
but  he  showed  no  enthusiasm  for  the  trade.  He  gave  the  im 
pression  of  being  annoyed  and  refused  to  trade  anything  but 
high  wine,  powder,  and  ball.  An  idea  of  how  permanent  alco 
hol  stood  in  our  trade  ventures  is  shown  from  the  fact  that, 
out  of  twenty-eight  "pieces"  of  assorted  goods  brought  in  by 
each  canoe  in  the  early  fall,  ten  were  kegs  of  liquor,  each  hold 
ing  nine  gallons.  Gunpowder,  which  one  might  expect  to  hold 
first  place,  furnished  only  two  kegs  per  canoe. 

The  fort  was  so  noisy  that  night,  and  there  was  so  much 
fighting  going  on,  that  I  moved  back  into  the  woods  where 


44  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

Flat  Mouth  threw  together  a  shelter  and  where  we  built  a 
small  fire  and  roasted  some  fish  and  spent  the  night. 

After  our  morning  meal  we  started  for  our  canoe,  eager  to 
be  quit  of  the  place.  The  Indians  were  quiet,  either  sick  or 
sleeping,  and  I  saw  nothing  of  Desset.  We  were  near  the 
bank  when  out  of  the  early  shadows  upriver  shot  a  canoe,  and 
after  a  glance  Flat  Mouth  said  it  was  the  Rat.  He  also  pulled 
the  casing  off  his  gun  and  suggested  the  man  was  fleeing  from 
an  enemy,  perhaps  the  Sioux;  this  because  the  Rat  gave  an  ex 
cellent  exhibition  of  a  man  in  a  great  hurry.  I  pooh-poohed 
the  Sioux  notion.  Even  if  they  came  in  such  force  as  to  take 
the  Pembina  post  there  would  have  been  a  few  survivors  to  flee 
down  the  river.  Instead  of  crossing  the  mouth  of  the  Scratch 
ing  and  making  the  X.  Y.  post,  the  Rat  drove  full  speed  for 
our  bank  and  was  ashore  almost  before  his  canoe  found  the 
mud. 

Without  a  word  to  me  he  started  on  the  run  for  the  post  and 
I  chased  after  him.  Desset  had  seen  him  land  and  was  at  the 
stockade  gate,  his  manner  nervous. 

"Very  soon!  Met  heem  coming  like !"  exploded  the 

Rat. 

"Did  he  send  any  word  ?"  asked  Desset,  his  eyes  brightening. 

"To  be  ready.    That  is  all." 

Having  finished  his  errand,  the  Rat  ran  back  to  his  canoe 
and  set  off  for  the  X.  Y.  establishment. 

"Who  did  he  meet?    What's  up?"    I  impatiently  asked. 

"I  supposed  you  knew,"  innocently  answered  Desset.  "Noth 
ing's  up  except  what  happens  every  spring.  The  Pembina  post 
brigade  is  going  out.  Mr.  Chabot  sends  word  he  will  be  here 
soon  and  that  I'm  to  have  my  packs  ready  to  join  him." 

"The  brigade  going  out?"  I  spluttered.  "Devil's  hoofs! 
The  Rat  must  have  lied.  Nothing  has  been  done  about  the 
planting,  next  season's  fuel,  arranging  for  the  summer 
men " 

"I  should  think,  Mr,  Franklin,  those  were  matters  for  your 
superior  to  worry  about,"  tartly  broke  in  Desset. 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  45 

"I  don't  think  he  will  worry  about  them,"  I  slowly  replied. 
"Maybe  his  superiors  will,  though." 

He  turned  away  to  round  up  some  Indians  recovered  enough 
from  their  spree  to  carry  the  packs  to  the  shore.  I  walked 
leisurely  back  to  the  river.  Chabot  had  told  me  I  would  have 
ample  time  to  return  and  get  together  some  few  belongings;  he 
had  intended  from  the  first  to  make  this  unusually  early  start. 
Mr.  Henry  usually  went  out  during  the  last  week  in  May  or 
early  in  June.  The  only  explanation  I  could  scare  up  was 
that  Chabot,  his  nerves  shaken  by  rum,  was  in  a  panic  lest  our 
Indians  rise  and  massacre  us.  Perhaps  my  mentioning  old 
Tabashaw's  boast  that  he  could  kill  a  man,  white  or  red,  by  just 
wishing  him  to  die  was  responsible.  Anyway,  I  now  knew  the 
nature  of  the  message  Old  Crow  had  brought  to  Desset.  The 
clerk  had  been  ordered  to  have  everything  in  readiness  for  an 
immediate  departure. 

My  personal  effects  at  the  post  could  await  my  return  in  the 
fall  or  be  stolen.  They  were  of  not  enough  value  to  worry 
over.  I  had  my  double-barrel  gun,  my  dearest  possession,  and 
I  could  arrange  with  one  of  the  X.  Y.  people  to  go  after  my 
horse  or  to  care  for  it  after  Flat  Mouth  brought  it  down. 
Probos,  our  clerk  at  the  Reed,  would  be  left  in  charge  of  the 
post  during  the  summer,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  trust  the  horse 
to  him.  He  was  honest  but  slow-witted.  The  Crees  could 
steal  his  moccasins  and  he  would  never  know  it  until  he  went 
out  barefooted  and  got  a  blade  of  porcupine-grass  through  a  toe. 

Now  a  dozen  canoes  of  Indian  families  turned  the  bend 
above,  stringing  out  in  a  long  procession ;  then  came  the  post's 
nine  canoes  and  two  boats,  a  man  in  each,  the  rest  of  the  space 
being  heaped  high  with  equipage  and  skins.  This  would  leave 
twenty-odd  Indian  canoes  unaccounted  for,  and  I  was  forced 
to  the  conclusion  that  despite  his  precipitate  departure  Chabot 
had  found  time  to  make  up  small  assortments  of  trade  goods 
for  the  Hills  and  other  outposts  and  to  assign  hunting  territory 
to  the  summer  men. 

Flat  Mouth,  who  stood  beside  me  watching  the  brigade,  now 
gave  a  low  grunt.  I  observed  he  had  shifted  his  attention 


46  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

downstream.  I  looked  in  that  direction  and  beheld  the  X.  Y. 
brigade  of  eight  canoes  was  starting  down-river.  This  was  my 
second  great  surprise  of  the  morning. 

Yesterday  Red  Dearness  had  shown  no  symptoms  of  taking 
an  early  departure.  Now  he  was  off,  and  seemingly  in  great 
haste  to  precede  our  brigade.  When  Mr.  Henry  ruled  at  the 
Pembina  post,  rival  brigades  usually  travelled  to  the  Forks  each 
spring  in  a  most  neighbourly  fashion. 

Red  Dearness,  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  was  in  the  first  canoe. 
He  turned  and  looked  back  only  once,  and  then  to  wave  his 
hand  to  the  X.  Y.  Fort.  Dearness,  I  deduced,  was  in  a  serious 
state  of  health,  and  some  sudden  symptoms  had  forced  his  de 
parture.  Which  of  the  blanketed  figures  was  the  woman  who 
talked  in  English,  French,  and  Chippewa  it  was  impossible  to 
determine.  Angus,  the  clerk,  stood  clear  of  the  woods  on  the 
little  point  and  limply  waved  a  hand  in  farewell. 

Poor  devil!  I  pitied  him  for  the  loneliness  he  must  endure 
as  summer  keeper  of  the  fort,  for  the  stench  of  the  decaying 
buffalo,  for  the  possible  plague  of  grasshoppers  which  would 
rival  the  buffalo  in  stinks.  For  when  these  pests  came  to 
blight  the  land  they  died  in  millions  along  the  river.  I've  seen 
the  shores  of  Winnipeg  inches  deep  with  them  decaying.  Oh, 
I  had  room  to  pity  him  for  many  things,  even  if  he  did  belong 
to  the  opposition. 

Our  brigade  swung  ashore  and  the  Indians  gave  a  hand  in 
unloading  the  skin  canoes  and  turning  them  up  to  be  dried  out 
by  the  sun.  Chabot  arrived  last,  having  Probos  with  him.  I 
greeted  him  and  reported  on  the  agreement  signed  by  me  in 
behalf  of  the  N.  W.  and  by  Dearness  for  the  X.  Y.,  by  the 
terms  of  which  neither  in  the  department  of  the  Lower  Red 
River  was  to  drum  up  trade  among  the  Indians. 

He  was  not  interested  in  my  report  but  stood  and  grinned 
ferociously  down  the  river  and  boasted: 

"The  red  rat  wasn't  keen  to  see  me.  According  to  your  say, 
he  was  going  to  do  something  about  the  furs  I  took  from  his 
women.  I  was  loaded  for  him.  He  knew  it,  too.  Skun 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  47 

out  ahead  of  me,  eh?  Well,  maybe  I'll  catch  up  with  him 
before  he  makes  the  Forks." 

"He's  a  sick  man,"  I  said. 

"He'll  be  sicker  before  I  get  through  with  him,"  he  bragged. 

"If  you  have  any  trouble  with  him,  you  must  kill  him.  If 
you  don't,  he  will  kill  you.  I  talked  enough  to  know  he  will  go 
the  full  distance.  While  sick,  he  hasn't  lost  his  strength.  Heart, 
probably." 

Chabot  lost  some  of  his  assurance  and  his  leer  changed  to  a 
dark  scowl.  I  asked : 

"How  is  it  you  go  out  so  early?  I  thought  I  was  to  have 
time  to  get  back  and  pack  up  some  of  my  belongings." 

"It's  likely  the  affairs  of  the  North  West  Company  will  be 
held  up  to  make  things  easier  for  you,"  he  sneered. 

"At  least  tell  me  when  you  leave  here.  I've  got  to  arrange 
to  send  for  my  horse  and  have  him  cared  for." 

"I  start  just  as  soon  as  the  skin  canoes  get  dry  and  Desset  is 
ready." 

Now  something  was  amusing  him,  for  as  he  finished  he  com 
menced  chuckling.  I  suspected  it  might  be  the  canoeload  of 
furs  he  and  Desset  had  sent  off.  With  an  oath  he  suddenly 
began  raging: 

"That  Desset  has  gone  and  lost  his  accounts!  Let  some 
drunken  Indians  burn  them  up.  Pretty  Northman  he'll  make! 
I'd  planned  to  leave  him  to  look  after  the  summer  trade, 
but  now  the  company  will  want  to  shift  or  ship  him." 

"He  expects  to  go  along  with  you.  He's  been  busy  packing 
ever  since  Old  Crow  brought  your  message." 

He  slowly  turned  and  eyed  me,  to  see  if  my  words  hid  any 
thing. 

"He'll  go  as  far  as  the  Forks,  where  he'll  wait  for  the  Assini- 
boin  brigade  to  come  down.  I  ought  to  get  orders  from  up 
country  about  his  case.  How  did  you  know  anything  about 
my  message  ?"  The  last  savagely. 

"I  was  here  when  the  Crow  came,"  I  lied,  not  wishing  to 
make  trouble  for  the  Indian.  "Joe  Pouliot  was  pretty  lucky  to 
make  that  derouln.  Two  hundred  skins." 


48  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Desset  will  never  make  a  Northman.  He  talks  too  much. 
The  X.  Y.  will  hear  of  it  and  then  they'll  howl." 

"He's  your  man.    You  brought  him  here." 

"Then  it's  none  of  your  business,  Franklin!"  he  roared,  his 
beard  seeming  to  bristle.  "I  don't  like  your  way  of  talking." 

"All  right.  I'm  through.  Here's  the  Rat  dancing  round  to 
speak  to  you." 

Chabot  mumbled  under  his  breath  and  turned  aside.  The 
Rat,  with  much  writhing  and  gesticulating,  poured  out  a  tor 
rent  of  softly  spoken  words.  Chabot  listened  with  a  frown 
creasing  his  forehead.  When  the  Rat  had  finished,  he  answered 
him  briefly,  talking  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  The  Rat 
fell  back. 

"Hired  him?"  I  inquired. 

"Told  him  to  go  to  !"  Chabot  growled.  Which  was 

surprising  to  learn  after  seeing  how  resignedly  the  Rat  had 
taken  it. 

That  night  Chabot  and  Desset  and  Probos  and  a  few  of  the 
men — whites — drank  deeply  from  a  ten-gallon  keg  of  brandy 
and  distributed  much  mixed  rum  not  only  to  our  Indians  but 
also  to  those  eagerly  flocking  across  the  river  from  the  X.  Y. 
post.  An  Indian  can  scent  rum  a  mile,  I  believe.  Open  a  keg 
in  any  open  space  with  not  a  redskin  in  sight,  and  before  you 
know  it  they  will  begin  to  drop  in  like  crows  calling  on  a  dead 
buffalo. 

They  gave  away  fifteen  kegs  all  told  and  speedily  put  a  fight 
ing  edge  on  the  Chippewas.  Inside  of  an  hour  after  the  bout 
began  I  saw  four  separate  combats  going  on  at  the  same  time. 
As  I  was  leaving  the  hall,  old  Tabashaw  stumbled  against  me 
in  the  dark.  When  I  pushed  him  away  he  attempted  to  stab 
me.  I  knocked  him  down  and  threw  him  out.  Little  Shell, 
imagining  him  to  be  a  Sioux,  grabbed  his  hair  and  would  have 
counted  coup  if  my  foot  hadn't  landed  under  his  chin.  Desset> 
under  orders  from  Chabot,  had  endeavoured  to  collect  all  weap 
ons  before  giving  out  the  rum,  but  I  never  saw  an  Indian 
drinking  match  yet  when  weapons  could  not  be  produced.  This 


THE  BRIGADE  GOES  OUT  49 

night  the  women  were  largely  to  blame,  as  they  persisted  in 
smuggling  knives  to  their  men. 

Early  next  morning  we  routed  the  Indians,  but  many  of  them 
were  in  no  condition  to  go  on.  There  was  no  intention  of 
taking  any  with  us  except  those  bound  for  the  Assiniboin, 
where  they  proposed  to  summer.  With  a  hearty  shower  of 
curses  Chabot  assigned  families  to  various  locations  for  the 
summer  hunt. 

He  told  some  to  go  after  red  deer  and  bear  east  of  the 
Red,  while  others  were  to  go  after  buffalo  on  the  plains.  I 
noticed  that  neither  Desset  nor  Probos  was  taking  any  notes  of 
these  orders.  The  former,  I  knew,  was  booked  for  a  home 
passage,  but  Probos  would  be  shifted  from  the  Reed  to  the 
Pembina.  When  he  had  finished,  Chabot  wheeled  on  me  and 
fiercely  demanded — 

"So  you  can  carry  all  that  in  your  noodle,  eh?" 

"In  my  noodle?"  I  blankly  repeated. 

"You  heard  me  say  it,"  he  growled. 

"But  why  should  your  orders  interest  me?  It's  for  your 
summer  man  to  prick  up  his  ears." 

He  grinned  maliciously,  fished  out  his  orders  received  from 
the  last  express,  placed  a  trembling  finger  on  one  paragraph  and 
invited  me  to  read.  It  was  an  order  for  me  to  remain  at  the 
Pembina  post  during  the  summer,  with  Probos  staying  at  the 
Reed  camp  and  keeping  an  eye  on  the  Scratching  River  post, 
which  was  to  be  closed  after  the  brigade  departed.  Chabot 
had  known  this  all  the  time  and  had  allowed  me  to  believe  I 
was  going  back  east. 

For  fully  a  minute  I  stood  stiff  and  motionless,  frozen  all 
over  with  rage  and  disappointment.  His  rough  voice  sounded 
far  off  as  he  explained: 

"This  post  will  be  closed.  The  Reed  camp  will  bring  their 
trade  to  you  at  Pembina.  Just  remember  my  orders  to  the 
summer  men  and  you'll  have  a  mighty  fine  and  easy  time  of  it. 
Before  I  go,  I'll  take  a  long  drink  to  the  new  master  of  the 
Pembina  post." 

My  hand  dropped  to  my  knife,  but  I  clinched  my  hands 


50  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

and  walked  away,  fighting  to  keep  my  mouth  shut,  my  fists 
closed  until  sure  of  myself. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  enter  my  canoe  and  paddle  down 
stream  to  the  Forks.  Gradually  reason  stole  through  my  black 
mood.  After  all,  the  orders  did  not  originate  with  him.  Some 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  North  had  picked  me  to  have  charge 
of  the  Lower  Red  River  department  until  the  brigade  returned 
in  the  fall.  Black  Chabot's  cruelty  was  his  withholding  of  the 
information.  There  was  nothing  to  compel  me  to  remain  there. 
I  was  free  to  refuse  if  I  so  wished. 

Chabot,  not  done  with  his  tormenting,  came  after  me,  per 
haps  to  spur  me  into  quitting  the  river,  and  arrogantly  de 
manded  : 

"What  do  you  mean?  Mean  you  won't  take  this  high 
honour — that  you  won't  serve  as  master  at  Pembina,  per 
orders?" 

The  Reed  River  clerk  was  watching  us  with  a  greedy  gleam 
in  his  eyes.  Chabot  had  brought  him  along,  intending  to  pro 
mote  him  to  the  position  after  bullying  me  into  refusing  it.  The 
master  was  expecting  me  to  refuse,  was  hoping  I  would.  Did 
I  refuse,  he  would  treat  me  well  enough  all  the  way  to  Mon 
treal,  satisfied  in  knowing  the  N.  W.  would  have  no  more  of 
me. 

"Refuse?  God  bless  you,  no!"  I  cried,  forcing  a  ringing, 
exulting  note  into  my  voice.  "Refuse  promotion  from  clerk  to 
master?  Why,  I  came  out  here  to  make  a  career,  to  become  a 
Northman.  I  shall  do  everything  necessary  to  keep  the  post 
fit.  But,  so  long  as  I  am  to  be  master  in  your  place,  I'll  make 
the  assignments  for  the  summer  hunters." 

Which  was  well  within  my  right  to  say. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   STOLEN   VOICE 

THE  return  up  the  river  was  dreary  enough  for  me. 
Probos  and  a  family  of  Indians  accompanied  us  as  far 
as  the  mouth  of  the  Reed.  Leaving  them,  Flat  Mouth 
and  I  hurried  on,  with  old  Tabashaw  and  several  families  pur 
suing  in  the  vain  hope  of  free  rum.  At  least  I  would  be  the 
master  until  relieved  of  my  trust,  and  I  was  determined  that 
neither  the  chief  nor  any  of  his  following  should  have  any 
liquor  until  they  earned  it.  If  they  would  drink,  they  must 
work.  As  one  of  the  results  of  the  drinking  bout  at  the 
Scratching  post,  there  was  the  burning  of  a  summer  Indian's 
tent. 

Chabot  had  just  advanced  goods  to  him  to  the  value  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  skins.  That  is,  he  was  to  pay  us  in  skins 
according  to  our  valuation  of  that  number  of  pelts.  Now  the 
goods  were  burned,  we  would  get  never  a  pelt  from  him.  Just 
above  the  Reed  we  met  the  Northwest  Annual  Winter  Express 
from  the  Athabasca,  making  all  speed  to  overtake  the  brigade. 
They  stopped  only  long  enough  to  voice  their  surprise  at  having 
found  the  post  closed  and  to  ask  if  the  Indians  were  on  the 
war-path. 

The  fort  looked  very  lonely  as  we  drew  ashore  and  hauled  up 
our  canoe.  The  solitude  of  the  place  was  intense  even  when  we 
were  surrounded  by  drunken  Indians.  Now  it  was  deathly. 
The  procession  of  drowned  buffaloes  was  thinning  out,  though 
still  the  river  rolled  a  daily  grist  over  the  southern  horizon. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  after  my  return  I  had  sixty-five  men 
and  women,  brigades  of  children  and  nearly  a  hundred  dogs 
camping  about  the  stockade.  All  were  begging  for  rum  except 

51 


52  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

the  dogs.  I  called  for  Tabashaw,  who  came  on  the  jump,  and 
explained  to  him  his  people  should  be  leaving  for  the  Pembina 
Mountains  to  make  their  summer  hunt. 

The  crafty  old  villain  loudly  replied : 

"When  Tabashaw  speaks,  they  will  go.  Tabashaw  is  chief 
of  the  Chippewas.  It  is  for  him  to  send  his  people  on  the 
hunt." 

Meaning  that  it  was  none  of  James  Franklin's  business  what 
the  Chippewa  men  should  do. 

"I  have  heard  you  speak,"  I  carelessly  answered.  "I  am 
very  busy.  I  must  write  down  each  word  you  say,  so  the  gen 
tlemen  of  the  North  can  see  by  the  talking  paper  just  what 
kind  of  a  man  you  are." 

He  wriggled  uneasily.  The  accounts  I  worked  on  each  day 
were  a  big  mystery  to  him.  That  I  could  preserve  in  writing 
a  verbatim  report  of  every  word  spoken  in  my  hearing  was  no 
harder  for  him  to  believe  than  was  any  other  of  the  phenomena 
of  the  white  man's  ways. 

"A  little  rum  will  smooth  the  road  to  the  hills,"  he  cunningly 
reminded. 

I  bowed  over  my  books  and  pointed  to  the  door.  He  with 
drew  and  commenced  a  violent  tirade  against  me.  He  was  con 
cluding  with  a  spirited  call  for  volunteers  to  rush  in  and  cut  my 
throat  and  seize  the  milk  when  he  glimpsed  me  at  the  window, 
apparently  taking  down  his  speech.  Without  comprehending 
that  the  written  word  could  never  condemn  him  until  deliv 
ered,  he  flew  into  a  panic  and  with  many  an  explosive  "Hough !>; 
bitterly  upbraided  his  people  for  not  departing  at  once.  Yet  I 
did  not  feel  easy  until  I  saw  the  entire  party  with  their  nine 
horses  and  many  dogs  strung  out  in  a  mile-long  line. 

They  left  just  in  time  to  escape  a  fine  fright.  Two  Indians 
came  tearing  down  the  river,  wild  with  fear.  They  had  been 
hunting  at  Grandes  Fourches  (Grand  Forks,  North  Dakota) 
and  had  found  where  a  man  had  placed  sticks  to  kneel  on  in 
drinking.  On  the  same  day  they  came  upon  a  buffalo  bull,  and 
it  was  wounded.  Two  positive  proofs  the  Sioux  were  hiding 
in  that  neighbourhood.  They  packed  their  hunt  into  their  canoes 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  53 

and  wanted  me  to  know  they  were  through  with  any  country 
above  the  Pembina  fort. 

As  they  brought  forty  beaver  and  seven  bear,  my  alarm  was 
tempered  with  rejoicing.  Now  that  old  Tabashaw  and  his  crew 
were  gone  I  threw  in  a  gallon  of  mixed  wine  as  a  bonus.  It 
came  off  cold  that  night  with  snow.  The  plains  had  been  clear 
and  dry  for  several  days,  but  with  the  storm  the  buffaloes  edged 
in  to  find  shelter  in  the  timber  along  the  river.  By  the  time 
we  were  settled  we  could  hear  them  crashing  about  close  to  the 
fort  and  at  times  scraping  against  the  stockade.  The  wolves 
followed  them  in,  looking  for  an  unprotected  calf  or  a  sick  crea 
ture.  I've  noticed  that  while  wolves  can  run  a  herd  for  short 
distances  the  beasts  will  not  stampede  because  of  them.  That 
is  why  our  Indians  always  suspected  the  Sioux  instead  of  four- 
legged  wolves  when  they  saw  the  buffaloes  in  rapid  motion. 

The  wolves,  however,  aroused  our  dogs,  and  what  with  the 
whistling  of  the  storm  and  the  racket  made  by  the  brutes  one 
needed  to  be  very  tired  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  we  found  several  inches  of  snow  but  with  the 
sun  fast  melting  it.  Flat  Mouth  came  to  me  and  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  the  Sioux  were  above  us.  Had  he  been  any  other 
Indian,  I  would  have  laughed  at  him.  He  had  fought  them 
many  times  and  was  not  quick  to  give  the  alarm. 

"The  men  saw  their  own  tracks  and  grew  afraid,"  I  insisted, 
to  drive  him  into  giving  me  some  reason. 

From  under  his  blanket  he  drew  an  arrow,  short  of  shaft 
and  long  in  feathering,  with  shallow  grooves  down  the  shaft — 
the  "lightning  marks"  or  "blood"  grooves. 

"Sioux,"  he  quietly  said. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

He  pointed  to  the  river,  where  buffaloes  were  occasionally 
floating  by. 

"It  was  sticking  into  a  bull.  The  bull  was  not  killed  by 
water  but  was  chased  into  the  river." 

If  I  had  had  a  half  dozen  whites  and  some  sober  Chippewas 
inside  the  stout  stockade,  I  would  have  defied  half  a  thousand 
Sioux  to  dig  me  out.  But,  being  alone,  my  Indians  off  in  the 


54  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

hills,  it  might  come  to  pass  that  I  should  seek  safety  in  flight 
down  the  river  to  save  my  skull  from  serving  as  a  drinking- 
dish.  Such  a  forced  retreat  on  the  part  of  a  white  man  and  a 
Northman  would  demean  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  Indians. 

"If  there  are  Sioux  at  Grandes  Fourches  or  this  side,  I  must 
know  it  at  once.  I  shall  start  up  the  river  within  an  hour." 

"If  the  Sioux  have  come,  they  will  cross  the  river  to  steal 
down  on  the  east  side,"  he  said. 

"Then  I  will  go  up  the  east  side  and  do  two  jobs  at  once. 
There  should  be  some  of  the  Red  Sucker  band  making  sugar  at 
Thief  River.  I  must  see  them.  There  should  be  good  beaver 
at  Goose  River.  I  want  to  look  that  country  over." 

"You  will  find  Sioux,"  he  warned,  turning  away. 

I  did  not  ask  him  to  go  with  me.  The  sun  was  warm  and 
the  snow  was  melting  fast,  and  by  the  time  I  was  ready  to 
start  it  was  gone.  I  planned  to  go  horseback,  as  the  country 
was  level  to  Park  River.  The  beast  showed  an  ugly  streak 
when  I  headed  him  south  along  the  edge  of  the  timber  instead 
of  taking  after  the  buffalo,  which  were  now  far  out  on  the  plain. 

There  was  a  danger  that  the  Sioux  might  be  concealed  any 
where  along  the  bank,  but  that  was  a  risk  I  must  take.  Flat 
Mouth  was  not  in  sight  when  I  quit  the  fort,  and  I  was  deciding 
I  must  make  the  trip  alone  when  he  overtook  me.  Without  a 
word  he  took  the  lead.  Late  afternoon  brought  us  to  the  Park, 
which  we  crossed  on  a  log  bridge  built  by  Mr.  Henry  the  year 
before. 

Thus  far  we  had  seen  nothing  alarming  and  made  our  camp 
a  few  miles  beyond  the  river.  Before  sunrise  we  were  mounted 
and  rejoicing  that  the  weather  still  held  clear  with  the  river 
dropping  rapidly.  We  crossed  to  the  east  bank  of  the  Red, 
wallowing  to  our  horses*  bellies  in  the  mud  left  by  high  water. 

We  went  through  two  miles  of  strong  timber,  then  struck 
willow  and  poplar,  filled  with  red  deer.  We  were  continually 
scaring  the  creatures  into  flight  and  I  made  a  mental  note  of 
the  place  for  the  benefit  of  our  hunters.  The  willows  were 
bad  enough,  but  nothing  compared  with  the  stretch  we  next  en 
countered.  Now  it  was  long  grass  concealing  holes,  and  marsh 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  55 

ground,  which  tired  our  nags  greatly.  Not  until  midday  did 
we  reach  decent  footing  on  an  open  plain.  The  deer  signs  were 
very  thick  whenever  we  struck  a  little  stream. 

Plenty  of  bears  was  shown  by  the  appearance  of  the  bushes, 
where  they  had  gathered  fruit  and  berries  the  season  before. 
That  night  we  camped  on  Snake  River  without  having  discov 
ered  any  signs  of  either  friendly  or  hostile  Indians. 

Flat  Mouth  lost  none  of  his  keen  concern.  I  had  been  with 
him  enough  to  know  he  expected  trouble.  In  the  morning  we 
crossed  the  Snake  to  follow  up  its  western  bank  and  in  a  few 
hours  were  in  sight  of  the  strong  woods  along  Red  Lake  River. 

Now  Flat  Mouth  motioned  for  me  to  hold  back.  Leaving 
his  horse  with  me,  he  went  on  a  discovery.  A  turkey-buzzard 
was  lazily  ascending  above  the  tree  tops,  and  it  was  the  pres 
ence  of  this  scavenger,  leaving  his  feeding,  that  had  attracted 
the  Pillager  Chief's  attention.  I  waited  half  an  hour;  then 
Flat  Mouth  came  into  view  and  beckoned  me  to  approach.  I 
rode  ahead,  leading  his  animal,  but  I  could  surmise  nothing 
from  his  face.  Therefore,  the  shock  to  my  nerves  was  severe 
when,  without  a  word  of  warning,  he  led  me  to  the  remains  of 
a  bloody  tragedy. 

An  Indian,  one  of  the  Red  Sucker  band,  was  on  the  ground, 
his  body  feathered  with  arrows.  He  had  been  mutilated  beyond 
all  imagining.  The  Sioux — for  there  was  no  mistaking  their 
work — had  raised  the  scalp  and  removed  the  skull  to  use  it 
as  a  dish.  After  I  recovered  my  composure  Flat  Mouth 
pointed  ahead  and  informed : 

"Signs  two  days  old.  They  followed  him  from  up  the  river. 
He  came  from  somewhere  near  mouth  of  the  Red  Lake  River. 
He  was  carrying  a  pack  of  beaver  on  his  back." 

Mounting  his  horse,  he  again  took  the  lead,  and  we  passed 
through  the  woods  to  the  bank  of  the  Red  Lake  and  found  our 
selves  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Clearwater.  This  stream,  very 
rapid  where  it  empties  into  the  Red  Lake,  was  famous  for  stur 
geon.  A  short  distance  above  the  mouth  was  the  ruins  of  the 
winter  post  built  several  years  before  by  Jean  Baptiste  Cadotte. 
His  father,  of  the  same  name,  went  to  Michilimackinac  fifty 


56  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

years  back.  Flat  Mouth  told  me  it  was  Cadotte  senior  who 
prevailed  on  the  Lake  Superior  Chippewas  not  to  join  in  Pon- 
tiac's  conspiracy  against  the  western  garrisons.  I  had  visited 
the  ruins  the  year  before  and  had  no  desire  to  go  there  again,  as 
the  woodticks  would  devour  us.  I  intimated  as  much  when 
Flat  Mouth  started  up  the  bush-grown  path.  He  gave  a  low 
hiss  for  silence  and  pointed  to  some  almost  imperceptible  marks 
on  the  edge  of  the  bank  while  his  lips  formed  the  word — 

"Sioux !" 

Now  I  was  after  Sioux,  but  I  was  not  a  bit  anxious  to  come 
upon  them  unexpectedly  or  while  they  were  in  any  consider 
able  number.  Then  again  the  sight  I  had  just  witnessed  rather 
weakened  my  fighting  spirit.  My  companion  seemed  to  read 
my  thoughts,  for  he  whispered : 

"Hurt." 

I  plucked  up  spirit.  If  the  Sioux  were  hurt,  I  wasn't  much 
frightened.  I  nodded,  and  we  dismounted  and  led  our  horses 
along  the  narrow  path. 

It  was  only  a  short  distance  to  the  old  Cadotte  place,  and  once 
more  I  acted  the  hostler  while  the  Indian  went  ahead.  This 
time  I  was  alone  only  a  few  minutes,  and  this  time  his  ges 
tures  on  returning  to  me  were  those  of  exultation.  I  hurried 
forward  and  beheld  another  dead  Indian.  The  Red  Sucker  In 
dian  had  struck  like  a  rattlesnake  before  being  killed,  and  he 
had  bagged  a  noble  victim.  For  the  dead  man  must  have  been 
a  great  war  chief.  This  was  indicated  by  his  feathered  head 
dress  and  the  beautiful  redstone  pipe  by  his  side.  A  buckskin 
bag,  which  had  held  his  medicine  and  mysteries,  had  been  torn 
to  pieces  by  wolves.  The  beasts  had  mauled  the  body  until  it 
was  only  a  bundle  of  bloody  bones  and  torn  leather.  By  some 
freak  the  head-dress  had  not  been  disturbed.  Altogether,  the 
remnants  of  the  dead  man's  dignity  were  in  a  sad  condition. 

"They  were  in  a  big  hurry,"  explained  Flat  Mouth.  "Some 
time  they  will  come  to  get  the  bones.  The  Red  Sucker  was 
taken  by  surprise  while  carrying  the  pack.  He  had  just  time  to 
throw  his  axe  and  crack  the  Sioux's  head  when  the  others  got 
him.  It  was  a  good  trade." 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  57 

"If  they  are  in  a  hurry,  we  can  hurry,"  I  urged.  "I  must 
know  whether  they  have  left  this  country  or  are  hanging 
around  for  more  scalps." 

"Only  a  few  came  up  here.  Lost  their  war-chief  and  ran 
back  to  their  war-camp  near  Grandes  Fourches.  May  find 
them  quick  if  we  follow." 

Which  meant  we  might  find  them  before  we  were  prepared 
for  the  meeting. 

The  sight  of  the  war-chief  revived  my  fighting  courage. 
Thus  far  the  Chippewa  Nation  had  no  reason  for  hanging  its 
head.  Flat  Mouth  scalped  the  chief  and  followed  the  trail 
downstream  till  we  struck  the  main  river.  There  the  signs 
prompted  him  to  cross  over  to  the  mouth  of  the  Cottonwood. 
We  struck  into  a  beaten  path  made  by  deer  and  for  a  bit  lost 
the  trail.  When  Flat  Mouth  picked  it  up  he  showed  surprise. 
Instead  of  making  off  southwest  to  Grandes  Fourches,  it  led 
us  back  north,  forcing  us  to  recross  the  Red  Lake  River,  then 
swerving  to  the  northeast  toward  Thief  River,  which  empties 
into  the  main  river  below  the  Clearwater.  In  short,  we  wero 
travelling  in  a  rough  circle. 

Flat  Mouth  reasoned  it  out,  saying: 

"The  Sioux  were  very  much  afraid  when  their  war-chief  was 
killed.  They  started  to  run  back  to  their  camp  and  ride  their 
ponies  for  home.  Then  they  remembered  the  beaver  pack.  If 
the  Chippewa  was  taking  it  down  the  river,  he  would  be  in  a 
canoe.  They  know  the  maple  grows  thick  along  the  Thief. 
Good  beaver  as  well  as  sugar  country.  They  think  the  dead 
Indian  came  from  there.  They  forget  they  are  afraid  at  the 
loss  of  their  chief.  They  want  to  take  more  skulls.  So  they 
start  to  find  the  dead  man's  family." 

There  was  no  need  for  hurrying,  as  either  the  Sioux  had 
found  their  victims  or  hadn't.  As  it  was  near  sundown,  I  sug 
gested  that  we  camp.  He  agreed  and,  still  holding  his  gun,  be 
gan  picking  up  dry  twigs  with  one  hand,  working  in  nearer  the 
woods  very  slowly. 

"You've  got  enough  wood,"  I  called  out,  making  to  dismount 
and  much  surprised  that  he  should  think  of  lighting  a  fire. 


58  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

He  startled  me  by  dropping  a  handful  of  twigs  and  by  rais 
ing  his  gun  and  firing  among  the  trees. 

His  shot  evoked  a  chorus  of  fiendish  yells  and  a  volley  of 
arrows  and  the  snick  of  a  lead  ball  against  a  tree.  Almost  im 
mediately  six  Sioux  warriors,  hideous  in  their  paint  and  howling 
like  demons,  burst  from  cover.  Flat  Mouth  moved  back,  keep 
ing  his  face  to  them,  coolly  reloading.  On  sighting  me,  a  white 
man,  they  came  to  a  halt,  undecided  for  a  few  seconds  as  to 
What  course  to  pursue.  While  they  were  weighing  the  matter 
I  let  drive  with  the  right  barrel  and  scuffed  off  the  top  of  a 
man's  head ;  the  gun  was  loaded  for  buffalo  bulls. 

With  a  shriek  of  rage,  fully  believing  our  guns  were  empty, 
the  remaining  five  sprang  forward.  I  fired  the  left  barrel,  pot 
ting  another  warrior.  Had  they  pressed  the  attack  they  would 
have  had  us  for  the  killing,  but  according  to  their  ignorant  no 
tions  a  gun  that  shoots  twice  can  shoot  indefinitely.  With  yelps 
of  fear  they  faced  about  and  raced  for  cover.  By  this  time  Flat 
Mouth  had  reloaded.  He  sprang  on  his  horse  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  bush-grown  ground  at  the  edge  of  the  timber  and 
scored  his  second  kill.  Then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  raised 
the  Pillager  Chippewa  yell  of  triumph.  And  for  good  measure, 
being  proud  of  my  race,  proud  of  my  two  shots,  and  somewhat 
young  withal,  I  added  my  voice  to  his. 

I  told  him  he  could  have  my  scalps  and  claim  the  double  kill 
if  he  wished  to.  This,  I  knew,  would  stand  him  such  a  coup  as 
no  Chippewa  had  counted  within  the  knowledge  of  their  oldest 
men.  I  waited  until  he  had  finished  his  ghastly  work  and  se 
lected  a  beaded  buckskin  bag  which  contained  some  coloured 
stones  and  bits  of  coloured  feathers.  This,  Flat  Mouth  said, 
was  Cheyenne  work  and  must  have  belonged  to  a  big  chief. 
The  bearer  of  it  had  killed  his  man,  ash  shown  by  the  feather 
in  his  hair,  but  he  was  no  chief. 

"The  bag  held  the  chief's  medicine.  It  belonged  to  the  dead 
chief  on  the  Clearwater.  One  of  the  Sioux  was  taking  it  home, 
leaving  his  own  in  its  place.  It  must  be  strong  medicine  to  be 
long  to  a  chief." 

And  Flat  Mouth  eyed  it  with  awe. 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  59 

"It  wasn't  strong  enough  to  protect  him,"  I  reminded,  slip 
ping  the  trophy  into  my  pocket. 

"No  man  knows  how  strong  his  medicine  is  until  he  fights," 
was  the  reply. 

Flushed  with  success,  Flat  Mouth  wanted  to  chase  the  Sioux, 
depending  upon  my  gun  to  slay  another  brace.  I  refused.  The ' 
Sioux  had  lost  heavily  on  the  expedition.  Five  men- — and  one  a 
big  chief — killed,  and  only  a  Chippewa  skull  to  show  for  it. 
Whoever  carried  the  pipe  on  that  raid  lost  caste  once  they 
sighted  their  village  and  began  throwing  themselves  to  the 
ground  to  prepare  their  people  for  bad  news. 

Many  a  finger  on  the  left  hand  would  lose  a  joint  when  the 
relatives  and  friends  of  the  dead  went  into  mourning.  Then 
again  the  Sioux  afoot  could  easily  evade  us.  Once  they  reached 
their  ponies  they  would  lose  no  time  in  retreating.  They 
would  believe  other  whites  were  near. 

Most  potent  of  all  was  the  medicine  of  my  gun,  shooting 
twice  without  reloading.  It  would  be  talked  about  from  the 
upper  waters  of  the  Missouri  down  to  the  Mississippi.  This 
miracle  alone  should  keep  them  from  the  river  for  the  whole 
season.  We  had  done  our  work  well.  We  had  located  beaver 
and  maple-sugar  country — the  real  maple,  not  the  ash-leaf 
which  grew  near  our  post. 

So  we  found  a  suitable  spot  on  the  river  and  camped.  Flat 
Mouth  tied  his  hunting-knife  to  a  sapling  and  speared  a  stur 
geon.  I  stumbled  on  to  a  small  herd  of  buffalo  which  were  in 
much  better  flesh  than  those  on  the  west  side  of  the  river.  1 
shot  a  calf  to  get  the  hindquarters  for  steak.  While  I  was 
acting  the  cook  the  Pillager  investigated  up  the  river. 

He  had  been  unable  to  locate  the  dead  man's  family,  but  he 
had  found  the  camp.  That  the  Sioux  had  not  found  the  camp 
—or,  at  any  event,  had  not  come  upon  the  family — was  evi 
dent  by  Flat  Mouth's  failure  to  find  any  victims.  My  com 
panion  believed  the  men  and  women  and  children  at  the  camp 
had  taken  alarm  and  fled  far  back  into  the  marsh  country.  I 
afterward  learned  that  this  was  true. 

Flat  Mouth  regretted  exceedingly  the  absence  of  his  friends 


60  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

from  the  post,  for  seldom  would  the  Red  River  Chippewas  have 
such  a  glorious  collection  of  hair  to  dance.  I  was  pleased  they 
were  gone,  for  it  saved  the  cost  of  a  prolonged  drinking  bout. 

Of  course  I  gave  Flat  Mouth  a  generous  allowance,  and  he 
spent  the  evening  in  arranging  his  hair  and  painting  his  face 
and  pounding  on  a  drum  and  chanting  songs.  After  building 
a  song  that  narrated  each  move  in  the  fight,  and,  being  thor 
oughly  primed,  he  let  out  a  terrific  yell  and  danced  the  scalps. 

In  the  morning  Flat  Mouth's  luck  was  still  with  him,  as  he 
managed  to  kill  two  beaver  opposite  the  fort.  I  turned  gar 
dener.  Thanks  to  the  foresight  of  Mr.  Henry  on  entering  the 
country,  we  were  able  to  raise  many  vegetables. 

Our  harvest  was  aside  from  what  the  Indian  women  and  chil 
dren  stole.  This  kind  of  thievery  became  such  a  nuisance  that 
we  were  compelled  to  inclose  the  whole  potato  field  with  a  high 
stockade.  Otherwise  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  post  a 
guard  by  day  and  night. 

I  had  just  traded  the  two  beaver  killed  by  Flat  Mouth  and 
was  on  my  way  to  plan  my  garden  campaign  when  six  Crees 
and  two  Assiniboins  came  in.  All  told,  they  had  a  dozen 
beaver  and  a  quantity  of  wild  fowl. 

I  traded  and  gave  them  a  dram,  but  while  they  drank  they 
kept  their  bows  and  arrows  in  their  hands  and  seemed  suspicious 
of  something.  At  first  I  thought  they  were  afraid  of  the  Sioux 
pouncing  down  upon  us.  To  quiet  their  fears  I  told  them  of 
Flat  Mouth's  coup.  They  put  no  stock  in  my  story  till  the 
chief  came  dancing  in  and  held  the  scalps  up  before  them. 

Now  this  should  have  brought  them  great  joy,  for  according 
to  their  beliefs  nothing  is  so  wholesome  as  a  Sioux  warrior  dead. 
Yet  the  sight  of  the  scalps  seemed  to  alarm  them  instead  of 
bringing  them  any  pleasure.  Their  attitude  was  sullen  as  they 
heard  Flat  Mouth  recite  his  coups.  Finally  he  made  his  exit, 
still  dancing  and  singing  the  song  he  had  composed. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  my  friends?  It  is  time  you  fin 
ished  your  milk  and  went  to  the  hills  where  the  Chippewas  are 
hunting,"  I  rebuked. 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  6r 

"The  Chippewas  have  stolen  our  medicine.  We  will  not  go 
among  them,"  informed  White  Buffalo,  leader  of  the  Crees. 

His  companions  followed  the  speaker's  example  of  staring 
after  the  Pillager,  their  bows  and  arrows  ready  for  instant  use. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  drinking  in  my  house  while  you 
hold  strung  bows  in  your  hands?"  I  demanded.  "Have  you 
passed  war-tobacco  against  my  children,  the  Chippewas?" 

"We  have  passed  no  tobacco,"  grunted  White  Buffalo.  "Do 
not  be  afraid,  white  man,  that  we  shall  make  a  fight.  We  can 
not  fight.  The  Chippewas  have  stolen  our  medicine." 

No  matter  how  ridiculous  I  might  think  this  allegation  to  be, 
I  knew  it  was  the  most  serious  matter  on  earth  to  them.  If 
they  sincerely  believed  the  Chippewas  had  stolen  their  medicine, 
then  good-bye  to  the  hunting  on  the  lower  Red  River.  The 
accusation  might  easily  create  a  situation  more  grave  than  any 
spasmodic  attack  by  the  Sioux. 

"What  medicine  have  they  stolen  ?"  I  solemnly  asked. 

White  Buffalo  pointed  after  Flat  Mouth  and  gloomily  re 
plied  : 

"It  was  our  stolen  medicine  that  let  the  Pillager  chief  count 
coup  against  the  Sioux.  No  Chippewa  can  take  four  scalps 
with  only  Chippewa  medicine  to  help  him." 

This  would  have  impressed  a  newcomer  as  being  the  silly 
superstition  of  an  Indian.  And  yet,  unless  happily  cleared  up» 
it  might  mean  the  ruin  of  the  North  West  Company's  fur  trade 
on  both  the  Assiniboin  and  Red.  The  story  would  spread  like 
a  malignant  disease. 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  Chippewas  were  in  the  hills.  Flat 
Mouth  was  too  deeply  engrossed  with  preparing  his  scalps  as 
permanent  trophies  to  bother  us.  Realizing  the  uselessness  of 
attempting  to  force  an  explanation,  or  of  belittling  the  accusa 
tion,  I  waited.  At  last  White  Buffalo  continued: 

"The  Sioux  followed  the  Voice  and  it  led  them  to  Flat 
Mouth.  The  Voice  made  the  Sioux  blind  and  they  did  not 
know  Flat  Mouth  was  cracking  their  skulls." 

"The  Voice?"  I  repeated,  seizing  upon  this,  the  first  clue  to 
the  Cree's  meaning. 


62  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"The  River  That  Calls  has  lost  its  Voice,"  informed  White 
Buffalo  with  a  little  shiver. 

Now  Riviere  Qu'Appelle,  as  the  French  knew  it,  or  Catabuy- 
sepu,  as  the  Crees  named  it,  was  regarded  with  much  awe  and 
fear  by  the  Indians  of  the  Northwest.  It  being  the  main  fork 
of  the  Assiniboin,  my  travels  up  that  river  had  made  me  some 
what  familiar  with  it.  It  derives  its  quaint  name  from  an  In 
dian  belief  that  a  mighty  spirit  haunts  it,  flying  along  its  course 
and  crying  aloud  in  what  sounds  like  a  human  voice.  I  had 
never  observed  that  the  Calling  spoke  differently  than  any  other 
river.  But  someone  had  tagged  the  superstition  to  it,  and  some 
manito  lived  there. 

What  I  couldn't  understand  was  my  visitors'  reason  for  be 
lieving  the  Chippewas  had  stolen  this  spirit,  or  Voice.  While 
the  belief  persisted,  however,  it  was  a  very  grave  matter  and 
very  detrimental  to  our  interests. 

"When  did  the  Voice  go  away?"  I  asked. 

"So  many  sleeps,"  mumbled  White  Buffalo,  holding  up  his 
fingers  to  indicate  a  week.  "It  was  the  Voice  that  helped  Flat 
Mouth  take  his  scalps." 

"Perhaps  the  Voice  is  tired  and  is  resting,"  I  suggested.  "It 
may  be  asleep,  waiting  for  the  mud-water  to  leave  the  river." 
The  last  was  the  true  solution,  I  believed.  Freshet  water  had 
eliminated  the  little,  musical  tinkling  sounds  of  the  shallows, 
and  perhaps  had  interfered  with  the  air  currents  and  their  mur- 
murings  among  the  trees. 

"On  the  Pembina,  above  this  fort,  we  have  heard  the  Voice," 
was  the  rejoinder. 

"You  heard  a  summer  bird  singing." 

Ignoring  me  as  if  I  had  never  spoken,  White  Buffalo  con 
tinued  : 

"We  have  heard  the  Voice  on  the  Red  River.  It  sounded 
like  women  weeping.  The  Voice  wants  to  go  back  home.  The 
Chippewas  cannot  keep  it." 

The  Crees  worshipped  the  Voice  because  it  was  big  medicine. 
It  was  powerful  enough  to  permit  Flat  Mouth  to  kill  four 
Sioux  warriors.  Wliite  Buffalo  believed  that  as  thoroughly  as 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  63 

he  believed  he  liked  rum.  Yet  a  stronger  Chippewa  medicine 
held  it  prisoner.  It  wept  and  moaned  and  wanted  to  go  back 
to  the  River  That  Calls  and  couldn't,  and  the  Crees  intended 
to  rescue  it  by  force  of  their  bows  and  arrows.  So  I  solemnly 
promised : 

"Within  a  moon  I  will  see  that  the  Voice  is  back  on  the  Cata- 
buysepu."  I  believed  that  inside  a  month  the  river  would  be 
back  to  normal  conditions.  "Let  the  Chippewa  magic  be  ever 
so  strong,  there  is  no  medicine  as  strong  as  the  white  man's. 
But  there  must  be  no  fighting  with  the  Chippewas.  If  any 
blows  are  struck,  the  Voice  will  refuse  to  return." 

My  bold  assurance  seemed  to  put  a  little  heart  in  them,  al 
though  White  Buffalo  was  curious  to  know  why  it  took  a  moon 
for  my  strong  medicine  to  work. 

"My  medicine  can  work  as  quick  as  that,"  I  said,  snapping 
my  fingers.  "But  it  will  take  a  little  time  to  learn  if  the  Crees 
have  done  some  evil  thing  and  have  driven  the  Voice  away." 

All  protested  their  innocence.  One  of  the  Assiniboins 
smacked  his  lips  over  the  dregs  of  his  rum  and  informed  me — 

"No  summer  trade  will  go  to  the  Scratching." 

I  attached  no  importance  to  this  remark,  thinking  the  wily 
fellow  was  fishing  for  more  rum.  I  pricked  up  my  ears  when 
he  added : 

"They  will  trade  no  new  milk  this  summer  for  skins." 

"No  rum  at  the  X.  Y.  post?"  I  incredulously  asked. 

The  Indian,  in  a  voice  of  deep  disgust,  repeated — 

"No  rum." 

If  this  news  were  true,  I  would  have  no  rivalry  during  the 
summer.  To  handle  the  trade  without  liquor  was  to  fly  with 
out  wings.  I  was  glad  that  Red  Dearness  had  gone  away  with 
out  requesting  me  to  sell  him  a  few  kegs.  Had  he  asked  the 
favour,  I  should  have  granted  it — not  as  a  courtesy,  but  as  a 
protection  against  a  possible  time  when  the  N.  W.  might  need 
a  similar  favour.  And  yet,  even  if  Dearness,  because  of  sick 
ness  or  haste  to  be  gone,  had  neglected  to  tap  our  stock,  why  had 
not  the  clerk  Angus  come  up  for  a  few  kegs? 

"What  were  you  doing  at  the  X.  Y.  post?"  I  sternly  de- 


64  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

manded,  remembering  that  they  had  no  business  to  take  their 
hunt  there. 

"We  took  our  goods  there,  as  we  were  afraid  of  the  Chippe- 
was  here,  who  had  stolen  our  medicine,"  defended  White  Buf 
falo. 

"If  you  could  have  traded  for  rum,  you  wouldn't  be  here 
now?" 

They  readily  admitted  this  to  be  true. 

"You  have  heard  my  promise  about  the  Voice,"  I  said.  "You 
are  not  to  be  afraid  of  my  Indians.  You  are  to  tell  all  your 
people,  all  the  X.  Y.  summer  Indians,  that  there  is  plenty  of 
strong  milk  here." 

"We  will  bring  our  hunt  here — all  of  it,"  he  promised. 

This  new  promise  of  trade  pleased  me  immensely  and  I  gave 
each  of  the  men  another  dram  and  left  them.  I  was  anxious 
to  have  Flat  Mouth's  opinion  on  the  stolen  medicine. 

"You  have  heard  the  Voice  talking  on  the  River  That  Calls?" 
I  asked. 

"Everyone  hears  it  who  goes  there." 

"Have  you  heard  that  it  has  left  the  river?" 

"It  has  left  the  river,"  he  assured. 

"Where  is  it?"  I  bluntly  demanded. 

"A  strange  spirit  flies  through  the  sky  along  the  Pembina 
River  above  the  fort.  It  makes  a  loud  noise." 

"A  strange  spirit?  What  foolish  talk  is  this?  How  can  you 
say  that  unless  you  have  seen  it?"  I  reproached. 

"I  have  seen  it,"  he  astounded  me  by  replying.  "It  floated 
on  the  water  through  the  darkness  and  sang  its  medicine  song." 

"What  did  it  look  like?" 

"Like  a  big  white  swan." 

His  hesitation  before  answering  satisfied  me  this  was  a  bit 
of  imagination. 

"The  Pillager  chief  heard  a  loon  cry  and  said  it  was  a  spirit," 
I  scoffed. 

"The  loon  has  the  voice  of  an  evil  spirit.  Ugly,  like  the 
snarling  of  two  foxes  fighting." 

By  implication  I  was  to  understand  that  the  strange  spirit 


THE  STOLEN  VOICE  65 

on  the  Pembina  had  a  very  sweet  voice.  This  in  itself  was  no 
clue  for  a  white  man  to  follow,  for  the  senseless  thudding  of  a 
war-drum  is  soothing  and  beautiful  to  the  Indian  ear.  I  was 
glad  old  Tabashaw  and  his  people  were  back  in  the  hills.  Once 
they  heard  they  held  this  mighty  medicine  Voice  a  captive,  they 
would  stop  hunting  and  depend  upon  their  prisoner  to  charm 
rum  out  of  my  strong  room. 

That  night,  after  I  had  turned  in,  there  came  a  pounding 
on  the  stockade  gate.  I  ran  out.  It  was  White  Buffalo  who 
answered  my  angry  challenge. 

"Listen  up  the  river,  the  Pembina,"  he  requested  in  a  trem 
bling  voice. 

I  turned  my  ear  to  the  west.  At  first  I  heard  nothing ;  then 
it  came  down  the  river  to  me.  It  was  faint  and  far  off,  con 
taining  a  wailing  sweetness  much  like  the  soft  passing  of  a  bow 
over  a  violin.  It  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  human  voice 
without  suggestion  of  spoken  words.  Rather  a  humming,  moan 
ing  sound. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SUPERSTITION   VERSUS  RUM 

FLAT  MOUTH  would  not  utter  a  word  when  I  at 
tempted  to  question  him  about  the  strange  sound.  I 
thought  to  betray  him  into  some  expression  by  making 
light  of  the  incident  and  attributing  it  to  some  animal  call.  He 
smiled  grimly  and  turned  away  from  me.  He  knew  that  I 
knew  no  animal  was  ever  heard  in  the  Red  River  country  to 
give  voice  to  that  peculiar  cry. 

The  effect  on  the  Crees  was  tremendous.  Their  expressed 
determination  to  fight  the  Chippewas  and  compel  a  return  of 
the  Voice  was  not  repeated  after  White  Buffalo  called  me  to 
the  gate  to  hear  the  wailing  up  the  Pembina.  They  became 
meek  and  humble  in  bearing,  and  their  leader  pathetically  ex 
plained  : 

"The  new  milk  made  us  talk  bad.  We  cannot  fight  against 
the  Chippewa  medicine.  We  only  want  to  stay  where  we  can 
hear  the  Voice." 

For  several  nights  I  remained  awake,  hoping  the  phenomenon 
would  be  repeated.  As  nothing  happened,  the  edge  of  my  in 
terest  wore  off  and  I  became  busy  with  the  ordinary  humdrum 
which  occupies  the  attention  of  the  bourgeois  of  a  post,  as  the 
French  called  a  manager.  We  turned  the  horses  out  to  graze 
on  the  plains  and  fired  the  dead  grass  along  the  east  bank  of 
the  river.  Two  skin  canoes,  loaded  with  beaten  meat  and  a  few 
skins,  came  down  the  Pembina  from  the  hills  hut.  I  sent  back 
several  kegs  of  mixed  wine  and  orders  for  our  man  to  keep  the 
Indians  there,  to  tell  them  they  would  get  nothing  to  drink  if 
they  came  to  the  post. 

That  the  X.  Y.  was  pursuing  its  silly  policy  of  attempting  to 

66 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  67 

carry  on  trade  without  rum  was  again  evidenced  by  the  arrival 
of  several  small  bands  of  Indians,  Chippewas  who  were  bring 
ing  their  hunt  to  me  although  they  had  taken  debts  from  the  op 
position.  They  denounced  the  X.  Y.  for  refusing  them  liquor, 
and  again  I  marvelled  that  Angus  did  not  come  to  me  and  bor 
row  a  few  kegs. 

Then  came  the  Rat  with  two  prime  packs  of  beaver.  As 
he  was  still  in  the  employ  of  the  X.  Y.  I  hesitated  to  trade, 
fearing  he  had  stolen  the  skins,  but  they  bore  none  of  the  Mac- 
Kenzie  marks,  and  finally  I  believed  him  when  he  insisted  he 
was  trading  them  in  behalf  of  two  tents  of  Crees  who  were 
afraid  to  visit  me  from  fear  of  the  Chippewas.  And  the  Rat 
wanted  rum. 

I  accommodated  him  and  questioned  him  concerning  affairs 
at  the  post.  He  was  curiously  silent;  not  a  bit  like  his  usual 
loquacious  self.  When  he  spoke  it  was  to  return  evasive  re 
plies.  To  my  pointblank  query,  "Isn't  Angus  planning  to  come 
here  for  liquor?"  he  replied — 

"No,  I  don't  think." 

I  next  took  up  the  Crees'  fear  of  the  Chippewas  and  de 
manded  to  know  on  what  it  was  based.  He  shook  his  head.  I 
decided  they  believed  our  Indians  had  stolen  the  Voice  from 
Riviere  Qu'  Appelle,  but  as  he  did  not  touch  on  the  subject,  and 
as  I  was  not  anxious  to  have  it  revived,  I  held  my  tongue.  I 
did  say,  however: 

"Tell  the  Crees  they  are  welcome  here.  No  Chippewa  will 
bother  them  when  they  bring  in  their  hunt." 

Presenting  him  with  two  quarts  of  liquor  for  bringing  the 
trade,  and  a  keg  for  the  Crees,  I  saw  the  rascal  to  his  canoe 
and  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him. 

About  the  first  of  May  old  Tabashaw  and  seven  other  chiefs, 
including  a  Cree  and  two  Assiniboins,  descended  upon  me  for 
their  annual  spring  presents.  I  gave  each  a  keg  of  liquor,  a 
new  coat,  some  red  feathers  and  tobacco.  The  usual  drinking 
match  followed,  keeping  me  busy  for  two  days  preventing  mur 
der.  It  was  the  Chippewas  who  seemed  hungry  for  trouble, 
the  others,  especially  the  Crees,  appearing  to  be  cowed.  Taba- 


68  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

shaw,  in  particular,  was  in  a  mood  to  tickle  the  devil.  Twice 
I  took  a  knife  away  from  him  while  a  Cree  sat  with  a  bowed 
head,  singing  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  die. 

This  meek  submission  to  a  ranting  scallywag  like  Tabashaw 
was  not  a  bit  like  the  Crees'  ordinary  behaviour  and  I  could 
only  attribute  it  to  the  theft  of  the  Voice.  However,  although 
I  kept  with  them  and  listened  sharply  to  their  words,  I  heard 
nothing  said  which  would  indicate  the  Chippewas  felt  they  held 
any  advantage  in  medicine.  If  the  news  of  the  Voice  had  pene 
trated  the  hills,  none  of  my  visitors  revealed  that  fact.  After 
the  second  day  I  drove  the  whole  party  back  to  the  hills  to  finish 
their  kegs  and  turned  to  stringing  eighty  fathoms  of  sturgeon 
net  across  the  river.  Flat  Mouth,  who  was  my  helper  on  the 
opposite  bank,  ceased  his  labours  and  stared  downstream.  I 
turned  my  head  and  beheld  two  canoes,  the  clerk  Angus  occu 
pying  the  first.  The  second  held  a  figure  heavily  cloaked  and 
with  a  capote  drawn  over  the  head. 

I  smiled  grimly  at  Angus  as  he  slowly  paddled  to  the  shore. 
He  had  been  forced  to  come  for  the  rum.  If  he  had  held  off 
another  month  I  would  have  cleaned  up  all  the  spring  beaver 
in  the  department. 

Angus  jumped  out,  pulled  up  his  canoe,  turned  and  did  a 
similar  service  for  the  second,  and  briefly  announced — 

"Miss  Dearness,  of  the  X.  Y.,  come  to  talk  with  you." 

With  this  astounding  statement  he  walked  rapidly  towards 
the  post,  leaving  me  alone  with  the  hooded  figure. 

More  than  one  Northman  had  taken  an  Indian  wife,  and 
whenever  Dearness's  "woman"  was  mentioned  I  had  taken  it 
for  granted  that  an  Indian  spouse  was  meant.  Instead  of  his 
wife  it  was  his  daughter,  the  woman  who  had  talked  to  me  in 
three  languages  from  behind  the  rawhide  curtain  at  the  X.  Y. 
post.  This  discovery  was  so  overwhelming  that  for  a  moment  I 
forgot  to  be  surprised  at  Dearness's  departure  without  her. 

"I  am  honoured,"  I  began,  bowing  to  her. 

She  threw  back  the  capote,  and  I  was  stricken  dumb  at  the 
revelation.  Expecting  to  find  a  mixed  blood,  I  could  only  stare 
foolishly  at  the  clear  skin,  an  English  skin,  and  the  glory  of  her 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  69 

red  hair.  There  was  no  mistaking  her  being  her  father's  daugh 
ter.  For  nearly  a  year  I  had  seen  only  the  coarse,  greasy  black 
hair  of  the  Indians  and  the  dishevelled  locks  of  the  few  white 
men.  Here  was  a  head  with  a  fiery  nimbus.  Not  auburn  or 
yellow,  but  red — a  red  that  would  fire  the  heart  of  a  warrior 
about  to  take  the  war-path.  I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  a 
skirt  of  blue  cloth,  such  as  the  Spanish  far-south  trade  with 
the  Missouri  Indians,  and  a  coat  of  dressed  leather  that  fitted 
her  superb  figure  snugly.  But  it  was  the  hair  that  held  my  eyes, 
much  as  fire  draws  a  moth. 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  been  left  behind,"  I  heard  myself 
observing.  "Or  did  you  and  your  father  go  only  as  far  as 
the  Forks?" 

"I  stayed  behind  to  look  after  the  post,  to  see  it  wasn't 
burned  down,  while  the  clerk  was  away,"  she  answered,  her 
blue  eyes  levelled  on  me  with  the  utmost  composure. 

"Then  Angus  is  only  a  clerk  and  you're  the  bourgeoise?" 

"Quite  correct !  And  your  name  is  Franklin,  according  to 
the  agreement  you  signed  at  the  post.  You  represent  Mr.  Cha- 
bot  here  this  summer." 

"You  and  I  are  of  equal  rank.  I  represent  the  N.  W.,"  I 
corrected. 

"That  makes  it  all  the  better."  She  smiled  graciously  and 
nodded  her  head.  Then  reproachfully,  "You  have  been  trading 
rum  for  skins  which  should  have  been  traded  at  our  post." 

"I've  traded  rum  for  skins,"  I  qualified.  "Whether  they 
should  have  gone  to  you  is  another  question.  It's  customary  to 
trade  rum,  you  know." 

"Rum  would  have  kept  the  skins  at  the  X.  Y.,"  she  quietly 
informed. 

"Of  course — I  had  no  idea  you  were  down  there.  Really,  I 
had  no  idea  you  were  you.  The  hunters  spoke  of  the  'woman.' 
I  supposed  you  were  his  wife." 

"His  Indian  wife,"  she  gravely  amended. 

I  nodded  and  continued: 

"I  took  it  for  granted  Angus  was  there  alone  with  the  inter 
preter.  I've  been  prepared  to  let  him  have  a  few  kegs  any 


70  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

time  he  asked  for  it.  It  wasn't  my  place  to  force  it  upon  him, 
but  you  are  more  than  welcome.  How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

"I  don't  want  any.  Some  of  the  X.  Y.  stock  is  stored  at  the 
post." 

I  sank  down  on  the  nose  of  a  canoe,  almost  doubting  my  ears. 
And  her  blue  eyes  were  gathering  storm  signs,  which  was  also 
bewildering. 

"Well,"  I  helplessly  replied,  "if  you  have  rum  and  don't 
want  any  from  the  N.  W.,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  you. 
You've  refused  to  trade  rum  for  skins.  Surely  you're  not  go 
ing  to  make  the  startling  suggestion  that  I  do  the  same?" 

"It  would  be  a  very  sensible  suggestion.  I  had  thought  of 
making  it.  Now  I  see  it  would  be  wasting  my  breath — that 
you  would  never  consider  it." 

"Not  for  a  second!  Why,  Miss  Dearness,  nothing  but  rum 
will  bring  in  the  skins.  You  know  that.  I  can't  imagine  your 
father  getting  a  hunt  without  using  high  wine.  It's  the  one 
thing  the  Indian  cannot  resist." 

"He  has  always  used  it  and  always  will,"  she  calmly  admit 
ted.  "But  I  will  not." 

"Then  you'll  do  no  summer  trading  on  the  Red,"  I  assured 
her. 

"That  doesn't  follow,"  she  murmured,  half  closing  her  eyes 
and  watching  me  sleepily.  "I'm  only  staying  till  my  father 
returns." 

"Does  he  know  you're  killing  his  trade  in  this  way?" 

"Not  unless  he  has  very  strong  medicine."  Her  teeth  flashed 
in  a  smile. 

"I  see,"  I  mumbled,  my  brains  quite  addled  by  the  red  of 
her  hair  and  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes.  "Of  course." 

"When  I  came  here  I  was  prompted  by  an  impulse,"  she  ran 
on.  "Before  I  jumped  ashore  I  knew  my  errand  was  foolish." 

"Don't  say  that,"  I  begged.  "You've  given  me  the  greatest 
surprise  in  my  life.  Surprises  up  here  are  good  for  one." 

"I've  nothing  to  say  to  your  trading  rum,"  she  imperturba- 
bly  continued.  "It's  customary.  But  there  are  some  skins  owed 
the  X.  Y.  on  debts  taken  before  my  father  left  for  the  Forks. 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  71 

You  had  no  right  to  trade  for  those.  Even  the  rum  was  passed 
over  for  them." 

"It's  not  nice,  this  taking  skins  owed  on  debts.  But  your 
father  has  had  few  scruples,  if  you'll  forgive  me  for  saying  it." 

"Black  Chabot  had  none.  I  should  never  have  come  to  -see 
him." 

This  was  either  a  compliment  or  a  reflection  on  my  youth. 

"I  know  the  fur  trade  quite  well,"  I  said.  "It  isn't  for 
the  N.  W.  to  safeguard  the  X.  Y.  interests.  I  can't  imagine 
Sir  Alexander  MacKenzie  going  out  of  his  way  to  prevent 
Simon  McTavish  losing  a  profit.  This  is  a  trading-post." 

"Quite  so — and  you  approve  of  Black  Chabot's  way  of  fight 
ing  women  for  their  furs,"  she  sneered. 

"You  know  better.  I  have  never  fought  with  women. 
There  is  a  vast  difference  between  holding  up  a  woman  and 
taking  her  furs  by  force,  whether  she  owes  them  on  a  debt  or  is 
free  to  trade  where  she  will,  and  trading  for  skins  voluntarily 
brought  here." 

"Then  you  refuse  to  stop  trading  with  Indians  who  have  not 
settled  their  debts  with  us?" 

"I  must.  The  proposition  is  absurd.  Your  father  would 
never  make  such  a  request.  When  the  X.  Y.  and  the  N.  W. 
make  a  bargain  to  that  effect,  all  well  and  good.  But  the  liquor 
you  have  stored  and  won't  use  would  bring  in  every  debt  owed 
you." 

"I'm  disappointed  in  you,"  she  said. 

It  was  on  my  tongue  to  say  I  was  in  no  way  disappointed  in 
her,  but  there  was  something  in  her  clear  gaze,  a  strength  in 
her  simple  dignity,  that  held  me  constrained  and  awkward.  She 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  very  young  and  callow,  a  capacity 
some  women  have,  I've  discovered.  I  resented  it. 

"You  can't  prove  your  experiment  a  success  if  I  stop  trading 
rum,"  I  argued.  "If  your  medicine  is  strong,  the  only  way  you 
can  prove  it  is  by  overcoming  opposition." 

"I  believe  I  understand  that  much  quite  thoroughly,"  she 
gravely  said,  yet  making  me  feel  she  was  laughing  at  me  all 
the  time. 


72  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  Indians?  Angus  wouldn't  be  much 
help  in  time  of  danger.  The  Rat  is — well — a  rat." 

"I'm  not  afraid.  They  never  bother  me.  I  come  and  go. 
I'm  something  of  a  mystery  to  them.  They  seem  glad  to  keep 
clear  of  me  when  they  see  me  outside  the  fort." 

"Do  you  go  any  distance  from  the  fort?" 

"Oh,  I  go  as  I  wish.  I've  been  as  far  as  Grandes  Fourches 
in  my  canoe — alone.  Several  times  I've  gone  on  my  horse  to  the 
Pembina  and  followed  it  to  the  hills.  Now  I'll  be  returning  to 
the  Scratching.  But  please  remember,  I  think  you're  making  a 
mistake  in  taking  furs  belonging  to  the  X.  Y." 

"I  shall  have  to  risk  it.  You  go  up  the  Pembina.  Do  you 
sometimes  sing  when  you're  travelling  alone?" 

She  gave  me  a  quick  little  glance  and  admitted — 

"I  sing  if  I  wish  to." 

"Then  you're  the  medicine  that  has  stolen  the  Voice  from 
Riviere  Qu'Appelle,"  I  exclaimed,  very  proud  I  had  solved  the 
mystery. 

"I  have  been  on  the  River  That  Calls.  I  know  the  Indian 
story  about  the  Voice.  But  I  don't  catch  your  meaning,"  she 
said,  turning  back  and  waiting  for  me  to  explain. 

"Why,  the  Crees  and  Assiniboins  say  the  Voice  has  left  the 
river — probably  high  water  and  a  change  in  air  currents,  per 
haps  just  their  imagination.  The  fact  remains  they  believe  the 
Voice  has  been  stolen.  They  say  the  Chippewas'  medicine  took 
it  away.  They've  heard  you  singing  at  night.  That's  a  positive 
proof  to  them  the  Chippewas  have  the  Voice  a  captive  down 
here  on  the  Red  and  its  branches." 

As  I  eagerly  said  all  this  she  turned  her  head  aside  and  half 
closed  her  eyes.  If  her  clear-cut  profile  had  not  remained  im 
mobile  I  would  have  sworn  she  was  laughing  at  me. 

"Very  interesting!  Very  real  to  the  Indians,  too.  From 
what  I've  learned  in  going  about  with  my  father  there  are  no 
unfair  practices  among  rival  posts,"  she  murmured.  "That  is 
your  code?" 

"We  have  spoiled  the  Indians.  We  stop  at  nothing  which 
does  not  involve  premeditated  murder.  Your  father,  you  know, 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  73 

advised  Little  Crane  to  kill  me  for  preventing  his  trading  our 
skins  to  you." 

"Very  likely,  although  I  did  not  hear  him,"  she  coolly  com 
mented.  "I'm  glad  to  get  your  point  of  view.  I've  said  I 
thought  you  were  making  a  mistake  in  trading  for  our  skins. 
I  meant  a  mistake  that  would  hurt  you  morally.  Now  I'll 
make  a  little  prophecy.  You've  made  a  mistake  in  a  business 
sense.  I  see  fur  coming  back  to  the  X.  Y.  post  on  the  Scratch 
ing.  And  I  thank  you." 

"For  what?" 

"For  helping  me  bring  the  trade  to  our  post." 

Again  she  stared  at  me  sleepily  through  her  half-closed  lids. 

"So  you've  changed  your  mind.  You  will  use  the  rum  your 
father  left  behind." 

"No,   I'll  trade  superstitions." 

I  didn't  catch  her  meaning. 

"Superstition  has  brought  many  troubles  to  the  Indians,"  I 
reminded. 

"So  it  has  to  the  whites.  Superstition  was  here  before  the 
whites  came,  but  we  brought  rum  into  the  country.  We're  re 
sponsible  for  that." 

Her  quaint  and  prim  notions  concerning  rum  and  Indians 
amused  me.  But  as  she  amused,  she  also  thrilled  me.  She  was 
a  white  woman,  wonderful  to  look  at.  She  was  well  educated. 
She  was  refined.  No  wonder  the  impression  she  made  on  me 
grew  stronger  each  moment  I  stared.  The  remarkable  hair,  the 
fine  texture  of  her  skin  despite  the  Red  River  sun,  wind  and 
storms,  all  such  may  be  found  in  many  women.  In  addition  to 
these  physical  charms,  however,  was  an  indefinable  quality  that 
Strangely  affected  me.  I  did  not  even  know  that  I  approved 
of  her,  but  still  she  fascinated  me. 

My  first  thought  was  that  she  was  masculine — this,  perhaps, 
because  of  her  composure — and  I  never  cared  for  masculine 
women.  Almost  any  white  woman  would  look  fair  to  a  man 
marooned  on  the  lower  Red  for  a  year.  I  could  have  fallen 
madly  in  love  with  Miss  Dearness  if  she  had  been  less  pro 
nounced.  A  colourless  type  would  have  permitted  my  hungry 


74  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

imagination  to  add  all  sorts  of  attributes,  and,  being  in  love 
with  love,  a  commonplace  woman  would  have  become  exalted. 
But  Miss  Dearness  was  a  woman  a  man  must  like  or  dislike. 
Her  personality  was  so  strong  that  one's  fancy  could  not  add  to, 
or  take  from  it.  There  was  no  room  for  deceiving  one's  self. 

Men  long  in  the  wilds  will  be  overwhelmed  by  the  femininity 
expressed  by  the  first  woman  they  meet  on  returning  to  civiliza 
tion.  Although  I  was  hungry  for  the  companionship  of  a 
woman,  I  could  find  no  commonplaces  about  Miss  Dearness 
which  my  zeal  could  transmute  into  ideals.  She  was  what  she 
was.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  been  created  for  just  one 
man  and  would  repel  all  except  her  true  mate.  And  he,  meet 
ing  her,  would  wade  through  hell  for  her. 

She  also  appealed  to  me  in  this  fashion ;  unless  a  man  was  in 
love  with  her  he  would  have  no  scruples  in  opposing  her,  just 
as  I  felt  no  scruples  now  in  taking  all  the  X.  Y.  trade  I  could 
get.  This  must  have  resulted  from  her  air  of  self-dependence, 
the  conviction  that  she  did  not  need  to  be  protected. 

"You'll  trade  superstition,"  I  repeated,  groping  for  her  mean 
ing.  "And  I  have  helped  you  ?" 

"Superstition  was  here  before  rum.  It's  stronger.  You  may 
think  you  are  holding  them — you  will  hold  them  at  times,  when 
the  rum  is  under  their  noses — but  you'll  learn  that  superstition 
has  the  first  call  on  them.  Yes,  you  have  helped  me  immensely 
with  your  story  of  the  Voice  stolen  from  Riviere  Qu'Appelle. 
I  know  the  river  and  the  strange  song  it  makes  at  times.  You 
tell  me  they  heard  me  singing  and  thought  it  the  lost  Voice.  I 
confess  it.  I  took  the  Voice."  And  she  paused  to  smile  at  me 
triumphantly. 

"But  what  of  it  ?"  I  asked,  tingling  beneath  the  electricity  of 
her  smile. 

"If  they  would  have  it  back,  they  must  come  to  me — bring 
trade  to  me." 

"Impossible !"  I  jeered,  wondering  how  she  could  be  so  credu 
lous.  "You  forget  that  I  only  have  to  tell  them  what  you  say 
to  make  them  see  they're  mistaken." 

"Tell  them.    I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will.    You  have 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  75 

refused  a  very  reasonable  request  in  declining  to  stop  trading 
for  skins  taken  on  X.  Y.  debts.  Without  intending  to  do  so, 
you  have  given  me  the  advantage.  I'll  strip  your  spring  hunt 
ers  of  their  furs.  The  N.  W.  will  have  some  unpaid  debts  as 
well  as  the  X.  Y." 

Tender,  gentle  women  arouse  one's  pity  when  they  attempt 
defiance.  She  struck  sparks  with  every  word. 

"Rum  against  superstition,"  I  challenged,  hungering  to  trade 
with  her  and  to  best  her.  ' 

Like  the  average  man,  my  instinct  toward  the  sex  was  to  pro 
tect,  but  I  was  keen  to  humiliate  this  woman. 

"So  let  it  be.    I'll  wager  all  the  furs  I've  taken  on  rum." 

Without  heeding  me  further  she  walked  to  her  canoe  and 
whistled  a  long  quavering  note.  Angus  came  on  the  run  around 
the  corner  of  the  potato-field  stockade.  He  had  been  trained 
to  leave  her  to  look  after  herself,  for  he  made  no  move  to  push 
off  her  canoe,  although  his  bearing  was  as  skulking  as  that  of  a 
whipped  dog.  Staring  at  me  without  seeing  me,  she  sent  her 
craft  out  into  the  current.  Then,  resting  her  paddle,  she  lifted 
her  head  and  sounded  a  bell-like  call  that  rose  and  fell  and 
trilled  far  up  the  river  with  a  strange  sweetness.  With  never 
a  glance  at  me  she  adjusted  her  capote  and  started  down  the 
river.  And,  as  she  went,  she  sounded  the  call  again,  distance 
giving  it  an  eery  note. 

I  was  aroused  from  my  meditations  by  the  splash  of  a  paddle 
above  me.  It  was  Flat  Mouth,  and  now  he  was  running 
toward  me.  I  greeted  him  with  a  laugh  and  pointed  after  the 
woman,  saying — 

"There  goes  the  white  woman  whose  voice  the  foolish  Crees 
and  Assiniboins  took  to  be  the  Voice  of  the  Calling  River." 

The  fellow's  behaviour  both  irritated  and  amused  me.  His 
strong  face  showed  a  curious  touch  of  timidity.  His  gaze  fol 
lowed  the  dancing  canoe  until  a  bend  in  the  river  snatched  it 
from  view. 

"The  white  woman  is  very  big  medicine,"  he  grunted,  speak 
ing  to  himself  rather  than  to  me. 

"But  she  is  the  trader's  daughter.    She  sings  when  she  is  out 


76  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

on  the  river.  Foolish  Indians  heard  her  singing  at  night  and 
thought  it  was  a  spirit's  voice,"  I  impatiently  reminded. 

"There  was  a  spirit  on  the  River  That  Calls.  It  is  gone. 
This  woman  with  the  medicine  hair " 

The  rest  was  a  mumble  I  could  not  catch.  He  hurried  to 
the  stockade,  forgetful  of  our  unfinished  task  with  the  sturgeon 
net. 

I  was  greatly  disappointed  in  the  Pillager  chief.  I  had  been 
with  him  on  so  many  trips  and  always  had  found  him  so  brave 
and  loyal  and  sensible. 

With  a  wealth  of  new  thoughts  I  resumed  my  daily  tasks. 
During  that  week  Probos  came  up  from  the  Reed,  bringing 
women  of  several  families  to  plant  the  potatoes,  corn,  squash 
and  the  like,  and  to  burn  the  brush  where  we  had  cut  last 
season's  fuel. 

Never  in  all  my  experiences  on  the  river  had  I  seen  such 
tremendous  flights  of  wild  pigeons  as  now.  From  the  south- 
»ern  to  the  northern  horizon  the  heavens  fairly  throbbed  with 
them,  and  their  passage  arched  the  sky  and  shut  off  the  sun 
light,  leaving  the  plains  in  gloom.  The  Reed  River  Indians 
held  some  secret  pow-wows  concerning  the  pigeons.  They  had 
no  rum,  but  I  knew  they  were  making  medicines.  Old  Taba- 
shaw  unexpectedly  arrived  from  the  hills  with  Black  Robe  and 
the  latter's  family.  The  Robe  hadn't  a  single  skin  and  would 
give  no  answers  when  I  inquired  for  his  hunt. 

Tabashaw  asked  for  liquor  and,  despite  my  vow  to  give  none 
except  when  skins  had  been  killed,  I  measured  him  out  a  dram 
— just  enough  to  make  him  mad  for  more.  Then  I  asked  him 
why  the  Robe  came  empty  handed,  and  why  the  hillmen  were 
not  sending  in  anything.  He  was  dying  for  another  drink,  but 
surprised  me  by  simulating  ignorance,  talking  vaguely  about 
certain  difficulties  which  I  knew  did  not  exist.  The  Robe  got 
never  a  drop  and,  after  hanging  about  the  fort  for  several  days, 
disappeared. 

Shortly  after  his  going  I  discovered  that  a  nine-gallon  keg 
was  missing  from  my  stock.  It  would  never  do  to  let  an  In 
dian  get  clear  with  stolen  property,  especially  if  it  were  rum. 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  77 

From  Flat  Mouth  I  learned  the  Robe  had  gone  down  the  river. 
Believing  he  had  made  for  the  Reed  camp,  where  he  would  go 
on  a  drunk  with  Probos's  hunters,  I  put  after  him. 

I  lost  a  day  at  the  Reed  camp,  waiting  for  some  of  the  hunt 
ers  to  appear,  only  to  learn  the  rascal  had  paused  just  long 
enough  to  cook  and  eat  a  sturgeon.  Had  the  hunters  sus 
pected  he  had  nine  gallons  of  rum  with  him,  he  never  would 
have  taken  it  away.  On  leaving  the  Reed  he  had  continued 
north,  the  hunters  said. 

I  followed  the  west  bank  down  to  the  Scratching,  searching  it 
carefully  for  signs  of  the  thief.  If  I  did  not  find  him  at  the 
Scratching  I  intended  searching  the  east  bank  going  back.  I 
landed  a  short  distance  above  our  abandoned  post  and  cast  about 
for  a  trace  of  him.  Then,  fearing  lest  he  might  get  inside  the 
fort  and  set  it  afire,  I  left  the  woods  and  ran  to  the  post. 

Entering  the  stockade,  I  found  him  asleep  near  the  gate,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  keg.  I  kicked  him  awake  and  de 
manded  to  know  where  he  had  hidden  the  rum.  He  scrambled 
to  his  feet,  intending,  as  I  supposed,  to  lead  me  to  the  liquor. 
With  the  ferocity  of  a  cornered  Canada  lynx  he  was  on  me,  his 
knife  slashing  at  my  breast.  My  stout  leather  coat  protected 
me  long  enough  to  bring  up  the  end  of  my  paddle  under  his 
chin. 

Down  he  went,  but  was  up  again,  insane  from  rum  and  rage. 
I  feared  I  would  have  to  kill  the  brute  when  Miss  Dearness's 
voice,  trilling  and  wailing,  penetrated  his  black  mood.  He 
ceased  fighting  and  the  knife  dropped  from  his  limp  hand. 

I  wheeled  just  as  she  reached  the  gate.  One  sweep  of  her 
blue  eyes  took  in  the  situation.  Puffing  and  panting  from  my 
exertions  and  anger,  I  do  not  suppose  I  presented  a  very  pretty 
picture.  Anyway,  there  was  disdain  in  her  glance,  and  before 
I  could  speak  she  was  saying: 

"It  isn't  for  the  X.  Y.  to  return  goods  stolen  from  the  N.  W., 
but  I  suppose  you  want  the  liquor  this  Indian  took.  I  saw  him 
carrying  a  keg  into  the  woods." 

Then  to  the  Robe,  speaking  his  own  tongue  even  better  than 
I  could,  she  commanded — 


78  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Go!" 

He  ran  to  the  timber  and  I  ironically  observed — 

"I  thank  you  for  your  good  intentions,  but  you've  allowed 
him  to  escape." 

"If  there  is  any  liquor  left  he  will  bring  it,"  she  coldly  re 
torted. 

I  smiled  skeptically  and  lingered,  not  to  get  back  the  rum 
but  to  study  her.  She  appeared  to  be  oblivious  of  my  presence, 
quite  as  much  as  if  I  had  been  something  impersonal,  as  a  tree 
or  rock.  I  stared  at  her  without  any  attempt  to  conceal  my 
interest.  I  knew  I  should  never  feel  satisfied  until  I  had 
aroused  her  anger  or  her  fear,  I  was  in  a  frame  of  mind  to 
dislike  her  exceedingly. 

Something  thudded  behind  me  and  I  whirled  and  raised  my 
paddle,  only  to  find  Black  Robe  sullenly  standing  beside  the 
keg.  I  tipped  it  with  my  foot  and  knew  that  less  than  a  quart 
had  been  taken.  The  expression  of  disgust  on  her  face  as  she 
watched  me  make  an  inventory  of  the  liquor  was  maddening. 
One  might  think  she  regarded  me  as  an  animal  instead  of  a 
Northman  in  the  making. 

Her  own  father  was  famous — she  would  say  "infamous"  if 
he  were  not  her  father — for  the  big  trades  he  made  by  means  of 
alcohol  and  water.  He  was  accused  of  one  trick  I  never  had 
been  guilty  of — using  a  mug  half  filled  with  tallow  on  an  In 
dian  too  drunk  to  realize  he  wasn't  getting  a  full  drink.  But 
then,  Chabot  did  it,  too.  The  annoying  fact  remained  that  by 
some  influence  she  had  compelled  Black  Robe  to  bring  back  the 
stolen  liquor.  I  would  have  given  twenty  kegs  if  the  rascal,  on 
striking  the  woods,  had  kept  on  going.  I  wouldn't  tickle  her 
vanity  by  asking  how  she  did  it ;  I  did  say,  however — 

"I'll  send  down  to  you  the  next  furs  offered  me  by  an  Indian 
owing  you  a  debt." 

"Owing  the  X.  Y.,"  she  carelessly  corrected.  "Why  not  one 
of  the  packs  received  by  you  yesterday?" 

"None  came  in  yesterday,"  I  informed. 

"Then  the  day  before,"  she  went  on,  smiling. 

"It's  fully  a  week  since  any  of  my  Indians  have  brought  in  a 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  79 

hunt,"  I  explained.  "No  X.  Y.  Indians  have  offered  me  furs 
since  your  visit." 

She  opened  wide  her  mouth  and  laughed  with  such  a  mock 
ing  lilt  as  to  send  the  blood  sizzling  into  my  scrawny  face.  So 
bering  abruptly  and  with  no  trace  of  merriment  in  her  lips  or 
eyes,  she  coldly  reminded — 

"Superstition  against  rum." 

Raising  her  fingers  to  her  lips,  she  whistled  an  ear-splitting 
signal,  and  in  twenty  seconds  Angus  came  running  through  the 
gate. 

"How  many  skins  have  we  traded  this  week,  Angus?"  she 
shot  at  him. 

"Between  sixty  and  seventy." 

Had  he  told  me  that  and  she  had  not  been  present,  I  should 
have  informed  him  he  was  a  little  liar.  As  it  was,  however,  I 
clenched  my  teeth,  knowing  only  too  well  he  spoke  by  the  book. 

"And  how  many  of  them  were  brought  by  hunters  owing  N. 
W.  debts?"  she  sweetly  continued. 

This  made  Angus  uneasy.  He  did  not  want  to  answer.  She 
snapped  her  eyes,  and  he  replied — 

"All  but  four  of  them,  Miss  Dearness." 

"Now  I  understand  why  my  Indians  haven't  come  in,"  I 
confessed.  "Yet  it's  only  half  a  test.  This  thief  has  brought 
his  hunt  to  you."  I  pointed  at  the  Robe.  "If  he  hadn't  stolen 
the  rum  he  would  have  returned  here  and  stolen  the  skins  back 
to  trade  to  me  for  high  wine.  You've  started  a  dangerous 
game.  I  shall  stick  to  what  I've  told  them — no  rum  without 
skins.  Rum  they  will  have,  and  they  can't  steal  skins  at  our 
post.  You're  responsible  for  anything  that  happens  down 
here." 

"Mr.  Franklin,  you  understand  that  you  and  I  think  alike  on 
lots  of  things  concerning  the  fur  trade,"  timidly  spoke  up 
Angus. 

"You  go  back  to  the  post.  We've  left  it  alone  in  the  Rat's 
care,"  she  gently  commanded,  and  Angus  left  us  forthwith,  ac 
cepting  the  rebuke  without  a  word. 

Her  eyes  were  laughing  as  she  faced  about  and  confessed : 


8o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"The  Crees  and  Assiniboins  bring  me  trade  as  a  bribe  to  me 
to  send  the  Voice  back  to  Riviere  Qu'Appelle.  The  Chippewas 
bring  their  hunt  to  keep  the  Voice  on  the  Red.  So  far  as  being 
in  any  danger,  you  should  know  I  am  a  medicine  woman  to 
them.  My  hair  is  very  great  medicine.  Old  Tabashaw  says  I 
am  a  spirit-medicine.  I  have  no  sex  for  them." 

"My,  but  you're  a  tearing  beauty!"  bawled  Black  Chabot's 
bull  of  a  voice  behind  us.  "No  sex,  eh?  And  I  never  guessed 
it.  I  blundered  right  by  and  never  knew  it." 

I  was  amazed  to  behold  him  there  on  the  Scratching  when  he 
should  be  on  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  or  Rainy  River.  He  had 
been  drinking,  of  course,  and  never  had  I  seen  his  eyes  look  more 
evil.  He  glared  at  the  pliant  figure  of  Miss  Dearness  until  his 
gaze  became  defilement.  She,  cold  as  ice,  did  not  flinch  before 
his  lecherous  staring.  I  could  not  see  that  his  brutal  presence 
quickened  her  heart  by  a  single  beat. 

"You  did  not  go  through  with  your  brigade,"  she  remarked. 
"Did  you  overtake  the  X.  Y.  and  my  father?" 

"I  overhauled  the  X.  Y.,  all  right,"  he  hoarsely  responded, 
edging  a  step  closer  to  her.  "That's  how  I  learned  you,  his 
daughter,  was  here.  All  white — and  a  red  head." 

"Then  you  did  overtake  my  father?"  she  demanded. 

"I'd  have  to  travel  considerable  to  overtake  him,"  he  in 
formed.  "He's  dead." 

Her  face  went  blank  and  with  a  little  sigh  she  leaned  limply 
against  the  stockade.  With  the  grunt  of  a  wild  animal  Chabot 
snarled — 

"I  come  way  back  here  to  overtake  you,  my  pretty." 

It  was  beastly.  He  lunged  forward  to  seize  her.  I  shoved 
the  paddle  between  his  feet  and  brought  him  crashing  down  on 
his  face,  and  as  he  fell  I  gave  him  a  thump  on  the  head.  He 
lay  very  still,  his  face  buried  among  the  broad  chips  left  from 
hewing  the  stockade  timbers.  Across  the  clean  chips  the  blood 
trickled  until  I  believed  his  fall,  or  my  blow,  had  ruptured  a 
blood-vessel. 

"He's  a  black-hearted  liar,"  I  told  her.  "I  haven't  a  doubt 
but  what  he's  made  it  up  out  of  whole  cloth.  Don't  you  be 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  81 

afraid.  I  shall  kill  him  if  he  bothers  you  again.  The  N.  W. 
would  expect  me  to  do  it." 

"Black-hearted,  yet  he  told  the  truth,"  she  whispered.  "My 
father  was  suffering  with  incurable  heart  trouble.  He  knew  it 
was  only  a  question  of  time.  He  was  very  loyal  to  Sir  Alex 
ander  and  his  partners,  and  he  hoped  to  last  until  he  could 
send  someone  out  here  to  take  over  the  post.  He  didn't  dare 
send  me  while  he  stayed,  for  fear  he  would  die  before  his  suc 
cessor  could  come.  He  had  a  horror  of  the  post  being  without 
a  master,  so  I  stayed  and  he  went." 

She  talked  like  one  dazed,  and  yet  she  had  not  given  way  to 
her  grief  in  the  usual  womanly  way. 

"Pack  up,"  I  directed.  "I  will  have  a  canoeman  here  just 
as  soon  as  I  can  make  our  post  and  start  him  off.  He  will  be 
Flat  Mouth.  You  can  trust  him  absolutely.  Take  Angus  with 
you;  he'd  be  helpless  up  here  alone.  Flat  Mouth  will  see  you 
to  the  Forks.  The  rest  of  the  trail  is  easy." 

She  pointed  to  Chabot,  who  was  now  showing  signs  of  life, 
and  directed, 

"Take  that  away.    Don't  send  your  Indian." 

"Your  clerk  is  not  voyageur  enough  to  take  you  through 
alone,"  I  protested.  "Once  the  Indians  learned  you  were 
leaving  the  country,  taking  the  Voice  with  you,  they  might  do 
anything." 

She  walked  through  the  gate,  and  I  followed  her.  She 
halted  and  wearily  informed  me: 

"My  father  left  me  to  look  after  the  post  until  someone 
came.  I  shall  stay.  Good-bye !  You'll  get  more  skins  now — 
just  for  what  you  did  to  that."  She  nodded  toward  the  fence, 
behind  which  Black  Chabot  was  trying  to  collect  his  drunken 
senses. 

She  was  gone  by  the  time  he  had  managed  to  stagger  through 
the  gate.  His  long  black  beard  was  full  of  blood,  a  ghastly 
sight  even  in  the  fur  country. 

"Where  is  she?"  he  whispered,  glaring  about. 

"Miss  Dearness?     She  went  back  to  the  post  to  get  her 


82  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

father's  double-barrelled  gun.  Said  something  about  shooting 
you  on  sight." 

"I'll  tame  her,"  he  vowed.  "A  regular  red  head !  But  I'll 
tame  her.  Come  back  a  purpose  to." 

''Scarcely  worth  the  game,"  I  carelessly  remarked.  "A  risk 
is  a  risk,  and  danger  is  a  danger,  but  when  she's  got  all  the 
Chippewas,  Crees  and  Assiniboins  believing  she's  a  great  tribal 
medicine,  when  the  whole  outfit  is  willing  to  murder  every 

white  in  the  Northwest  if  she  gives  the  word But  what's 

the  use  of  talking  all  this  to  you?  You  know  your  own  busi 
ness.  You're  old  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

He  combed  some  of  the  blood  from  his  beard  and  stared  at 
his  fingers  curiously.  Slanting  his  eyes  at  me,  he  muttered : 

"How  did  I  come  to  fall?  Felt  like  something  was  mixed 
up  with  my  feet — like  something  hit  my  head." 

His  low  voice  was  the  danger  signal.  I  was  carrying  the 
keg  on  my  left  shoulder,  the  paddle  in  my  right  hand.  I 
dropped  the  keg  as  if  to  rest  me  and  shifted  the  paddle,  leaving 
a  hand  free  to  snatch  for  my  knife. 

"Looked  to  me  as  if  your  last  drink  was  what  got  mixed 
with  your  legs,"  I  boldly  replied. 

He  combed  more  blood  from  his  beard  and  stole  murderous 
glances  at  me.  He  knew  I  had  mauled  him  over  the  head  and 
he  proposed  to  get  even. 

"Indians  think  she  is  big  medicine,  you  say?" 

'lAsk  any  of  them,"  I  advised. 

He  picked  up  the  keg  and  drank  wolfishly ;  then  he  made  for 
his  canoe  and,  by  some  miracle,  embarked.  In  spite  of  his  drams 
he  handled  the  paddle  smartly.  I  placed  the  keg  in  my  canoe 
and  followed  him.  Instead  of  keeping  inshore  he  swung  out 
into  midstream,  where  he  had  to  contend  against  the  full  force 
of  the  current. 

He  had  a  reason  in  this,  as  I  soon  knew;  it  was  to  get  a 
view  of  the  X.  Y.  post.  I  trailed  him,  and  we  both  beheld 
Miss  Dearness  standing  on  the  shore,  her  face  turned  toward 
the  north,  looking  down  the  path  her  father  had  taken  for  the 
last  time.  Her  hair  looked  like  a  torch. 


SUPERSTITION  VERSUS  RUM  83 

The  sight  of  her  seemed  to  drive  him  mad.  He  stood  erect 
and  shook  his  fist  at  her  and  raved : 

"I'm  coming  back  to  get  you!  It'll  even  up  what  I  owe 
Red  Dearness." 

I  reached  over  with  my  paddle  and  gave  his  canoe  a  shove, 
and  he  shot  into  the  water.  I  had  hoped  that  the  rushing  of 
the  river  had  smothered  his  beastly  threat,  but  she  must  have 
heard  it  or  at  least  have  sensed  it,  for  I  saw  her  place  her 
cupped  hands  to  her  mouth  and  I  caught  the  long  drawn  out 
call.  I  saw  the  bush  growth  move  and  tremble  close  by  her 
and  heard  her  call  out  something  in  Chippewa.  Then  Black 
Chabot's  distorted  face  bobbed  above  the  muddy  surface,  and  I 
caught  his  canoe  and  pushed  it  to  him,  holding  the  stern  while 
he  clambered  in,  swearing  between  his  gasps. 

'Til  settle  with  you  for  that  when  we  get  back  to  the  post," 
he  choked. 

"I'm  going  to  kill  you  when  we  get  out  of  sight  of  the  young 
woman,"  I  promised  him. 

This  was  not  an  empty  threat.  His  treatment  of  the  girl 
left  me  cold  and  deliberate  in  my  purpose  to  have  done  with 
him. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  and  began  paddling  upstream. 
He  had  gained  a  lead  of  a  rod  or  so  when  an  arrow  whipped 
from  the  bushes  and  hissed  close  to  his  wet  beard.  With  a 
yelp  and  a  howl  he  toppled  backward  and  all  but  went  over 
board  again.  By  the  time  he  had  scrambled  back  to  his  knees 
a  second  shaft  stuck  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe. 

Then  came  the  girl's  voice,  clear  as  a  bell,  warning: 

"Tell  him  he  dies  unless  he  goes  downstream  at  once,  Mr. 
Franklin.  Tell  him  he  dies  if  he  comes  back  here  before  I 
have  left  the  country." 

I  had  no  need  of  telling  him,  for  he  heard  her.  Snarling 
with  rage,  yet  weak  with  fear,  he  hesitated,  and  a  third  arrow 
all  but  got  him.  The  Black  Robe,  for  I  knew  it  must  be  he, 
was  shooting  marvellously  straight  for  one  so  recently  drunk. 
Howling  like  some  wild  animal  caught  in  a  trap,  he  frantically 
spun  his  craft  about  and,  hugging  the  east  bank,  paddled  for 


84  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

his  life  downstream,  making  for  the  Forks.  I  watched  him  till 
he  was  out  of  sight,  but  did  not  see  any  other  arrows  pursue 
him. 

I  half  expected  the  Robe  to  take  a  shot  at  me,  but  he  did 
not,  although  he  had  many  opportunities  had  he  so  wished. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  had  she  not  forbid  his 
doing  so. 

Thus  closed  Black  Chabot's  career  in  the  Red  River  Coun 
try — expelled  by  a  girl  with  fiery  red  hair.  I  had  much  to 
ponder  over  as  I  fought  my  way  upstream. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  RIVER  SETS  A   TRAP 

THE  girl  was  much  in  my  mind  that  night  and  I  began 
to  sympathize  with  her  a  bit.  Not  because  she  had 
lost  her  father,  as  death  must  come  to  all  and  Red  Dear- 
ness  had  lived  his  life  and  given  sympathy  to  but  few.  Nor 
because  she  was  left  without  a  protector,  inasmuch  as  she  had 
impressed  me  as  being  quite  competent  to  care  for  herself. 
Chabot's  flight  before  Black  Robe's  hurtling  arrows  was  a 
token  of  this  fact.  My  sympathy  was  more  for  her  youth's  be 
ing  spent  in  a  lonely  land — probably  a  reflection  of  self-pity. 
As  I  dropped  off  to  sleep  my  last  thoughts  were  of  her  red 
head,  glowing  like  a  war  beacon  on  that  brown  river  bank. 

Flat  Mouth  was  cleaning  a  string  of  catfish  when  I  went 
to  the  river  bank  next  morning.  His  manner  was  preoccupied 
when  he  returned  my  greeting.  I  lighted  my  pipe  and  stared 
down  the  river,  thinking  of  her. 

The  Pillager  wiped  his  knife  on  a  tuft  of  grass  and  rose, 
saying — 

"He  will  not  come  back  here." 

He  referred  to  Black  Chabot.  There  was  no  need  of  names 
between  us. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  I  asked. 

"A  very  strong  medicine  will  keep  him  away,"  he  replied, 
smiling  grimly. 

"A  red  medicine,"  I  suggested. 

"White  man  call  it  'afraid/  " 

"You  have  heard  how  he  came  and  went  away?" 

"My  wabeno  medicine  tells  me  much." 

"What  else  has  it  told  you?" 

85 


86  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"The  father  of  the  medicine  woman  is  dead,"  he  said. 

In  some  such  way  did  news  travel  up  and  down  the  river, 
often  outspeeding  a  messenger.  You  might  start  post-haste  for 
the  hills  with  news  and  find  it  ahead  of  you  when  you  arrived. 
The  natural  inference  was  that  Black  Robe  had  brought  word 
of  Chabot's  attempted  assault  on  the  girl,  but  the  Robe  had  not 
put  in  appearance  and,  unless  he  travelled  during  the  night, 
he  could  scarcely  have  arrived  before  I  woke  up.  That  he 
would  paddle  day  and  night  was  hardly  probable. 

Of  course  there  would  be  a  flare-back,  once  Chabot  reached 
Grand  Portage,  but  I  was  not  worried  over  the  outcome.  Miss 
Dearness's  testimony  would  offset  any  charges  Chabot  could 
prefer  against  me.  What  I  had  done  was  for  the  honour  of  the 
N.  W.  company.  The  rivalry  between  my  company  and  the 
X.  Y.  was  at  its  height,  nearing  the  point  where  one  must  give 
way,  or  both  go  down  with  a  smash ;  neither  of  us  split  hairs  in 
overreaching  the  opposition. 

Still,  there  were  things  which  could  not  be  permitted.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  North  did  not  bother  with  the  morals  of  their 
representatives  so  long  as  the  returns  were  good.  The  leisurely 
procedure  of  the  H.  B.  company  had  changed  to  a  frantic  en 
deavour  to  suppress  us,  its  most  powerful  rival.  Sir  Alexander 
MacKenzie,  once  a  partner  in  the  N.  W.  but  now  head  of  the 
X.  Y.,  was  very  bitter  against  Simon  McTavish. 

With  all  this  bad  blood  almost  anything  would  be  overlooked 
that  gave  a  trade  advantage — but  a  ruffian  attacking  a  white 
woman — no!  Tell  headquarters  that  so-and-so  is  taking  too 
many  Indian  women  as  wives,  and  the  gentlemen  would  over 
haul  the  factor's  last  statement,  note  how  many  black,  silver, 
red  and  cross  foxes  his  sheet  showed,  or  how  many  beaver  and 
dressed  moose,  then  gravely  reply  it  was  for  the  good  of  the 
company's  trade  relations  with  the  tribes. 

We  determined  a  Northman's  reputation  in  terms  of  beaver, 
marten,  mink,  and  wolverines,  bolstered  up  by  his  trade  in  black, 
brown  and  grizzly  bears.  But  all  this  only  when  Indians  were 
concerned.  To  trouble  a  white  woman,  especially  when  she 
held  the  unique  position  of  representing  the  X.  Y.  company, 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  87 

was  a  vicious  slap  at  Sir  Alexander  and  his  powerful  associates. 
The  N.  W. — all  question  of  decency  aside— had  enough  trouble 
without  seeking  trade  in  that  way. 

So  I  wasn't  worried  over  the  final  outcome,  although  I 
looked  for  Chabot  to  spread  wild  reports  about  an  Indian  up 
rising,  with  me  turning  renegade.  This  would  result  in  the 
company's  rushing  a  brigade  up  the  Red  and  relieving  me  of 
command,  and,  doubtless,  in  sending  me  under  arrest  to  Grand 
Portage  or  Montreal,  where  I  would  ultimately  be  vindicated. 

While  at  the  bank  watching  the  Pillager,  two  canoes  came 
upstream,  containing  Bad  Ax  and  White  Partridge  with  their 
families.  White  Partridge  had  kept  clear  of  us  since  Chabot 
nearly  kicked  him  to  death  for  stealing  a  horse.  Now  Chabot 
was  gone,  he  was  back,  anxious  to  become  one  of  our  family. 
As  he  had  a  number  of  skins  I  let  the  past  sleep  and  gave  him 
and  the  Ax  a  dram.  The  Ax  had  started  to  hunt  moose  and 
red  deer  on  the  east  side  of  the  Red,  but  had  turned  back,  he 
said,  as  the  country  was  overflowed  from  the  spring  freshets. 
I  knew  this  to  be  a  lie,  as  the  river  had  dropped  rapidly,  and 
because  of  the  trip  the  Pillager  and  I  had  taken  to  the  Red 
River  district. 

It  does  no  good  to  tell  an  Indian  he  lies,  so  I  told  the  two 
I  would  give  them  tobacco  and  ammunition  if  they  would  take 
their  families  and  paddle  up  to  the  Goose  and  get  beaver.  As 
an  additional  incentive  I  promised  a  big  keg  if  they  should  re 
turn  with  enough  skins  to  wipe  out  their  debts.  They  vrere 
much  disgruntled  over  two  points;  they  wanted  the  keg  at 
once,  and  they  did  not  propose  to  hunt  beaver  on  the  Goose 
at  any  time,  as  it  was  above  the  Red  Lake  country,  where  they 
were  sure  of  being  gobbled  up  by  the  Sioux. 

I  spoke  to  Flat  Mouth,  who  disappeared.  When  he  proudly 
returned  he  was  flourishing  the  four  scalps,  now  nicely  stretched 
on  small  hoops.  With  great  relish  he  inflicted  his  new  song 
upon  them,  relating  our  adventures  and  picturing  himself  always 
in  the  lead  and  at  death  grips  while  I  lounged  in  the  rear.  The 
scalps  impressed  them  mightily,  and  they  eagerly  afiered  to 


88  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

trade  anything  they  possessed,  even  their  daughters  or  wives,  in 
return  for  some  of  his  war-medicine. 

At  the  risk  of  spoiling  a  trade  I  interrupted  the  babel  to 
declare  there  was  no  need  of  war-medicine  up  the  river  now 
that  the  Sioux  had  gone  home,  for  they  would  not  dare  return 
to  the  Red  until  the  following  spring. 

"And  before  then,  tobacco  will  be  passed  among  all  the 
Chippewas,  Crees  and  Assiniboins.  A  great  war-party  will  go 
after  the  Sioux  and  dig  them  out  when  the  leaves  begin  to 
turn  yellow  and  drop  off  the  trees,"  I  added  for  good  measure. 

Flat  Mouth  boasted: 

"The  Sioux  are  still  running  like  frightened  calves.  If  one 
is  left  behind  because  he  is  lame,  shout  the  name  of  Eshkebuge- 
coshe,  war-chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas,  and  the  lame  man 
will  run  like  a  fox  to  get  away." 

They  wavered,  and  I  tipped  the  scales  in  favour  of  the  trip 
by  giving  them  another  dram  and  consenting  to  furnish  a  gallon 
of  mixed  wine  for  them  to  take  along,  the  big  keg  to  await 
their  return  with  a  good  hunt.  I  was  anxious  for  them  to  go, 
as  the  beaver  signs  were  unusually  good  along  the  Goose,  be 
cause  none  of  our  Indians  had  dared  tarry  there  and  neither  the 
X.  Y.  nor  the  H.  B.  had  cared  to  risk  establishing  a  post 
above  us. 

Aside  from  such  unvisited  streams,  beaver  was  not  plentiful 
in  the  lower  Red  River  department.  The  scarcity  was  not  be 
cause  the  animals  had  been  trapped  out,  but  resulted  from  some 
disease  that  had  killed  off  the  valuable  creatures  by  thousands. 
They  seemed  immune  so  long  as  they  remained  in  swift  flowing 
waters,  but  the  colonies  in  ponds  and  stagnant  waters  were 
wiped  out  in  numbers  sufficient  to  make  a  Northman's  heart 
ache.  They  died  while  at  work  cutting  down  trees,  in  the 
entrances  to  their  homes  and  while  constructing  their  little 
canals. 

My  Indian  hunters  had  told  me  this  wholesale  extermina 
tion  was  to  be  found  all  the  way  to  Hudson  Bay.  Now  that 
Chabot  would  surely  endeavour  to  prejudice  headquarters 
against  me,  I  was  anxious  to  build  the  best  of  defences — a  heavy 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  89 

trade  and  the  exploiting  of  regions  heretofore  left  practically 
untouched. 

Flat  Mouth's  medicine  and  my  promises  of  rum  won  them 
to  the  venture  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  on 
the  way  with  their  families,  kettles,  ammunition  and  traps. 

Taking  the  Pillager,  I  crossed  over  to  the  east  side  of  the 
river  and  shot  three  black  bears,  one  on  the  shore,  drinking,  and 
two  out  of  an  oak,  where  they  had  climbed  to  escape  me. 
Their  fur  was  prime  and  the  skins  very  acceptable.  I  mention 
the  incident  to  show  how  easily  some  of  the  idlers  at  the  post 
and  the  hills  could  pay  off  their  debts  and  buy  plenty  of  mixed 
wine  if  they  would  take  the  trouble. 

Black  Robe,  very  penitent  and  very  thirsty,  came  in  the 
next  day  and  left  a  moose  as  a  peace  offering.  He  had  shot 
the  animal  in  the  river  while  coming  up  from  the  Scratching. 
I  read  him  a  lecture  on  the  awful  crime  of  stealing  rum  from 
a  white  man  and  showed  him  the  three  bears,  telling  him  to 
take  his  family  and  go  and  do  likewise.  Of  course  he  wanted 
rum  at  the  start.  I  advanced  some  cloth  for  his  woman,  gave 
him  a  few  inches  of  tobacco,  some  powder  and  balls,  and  in 
formed  him  that  bear  pelts  were  the  only  medicine  that  could 
get  rum  from  me. 

In  a  final  effort  to  touch  my  heart  or  arouse  my  fears,  he 
told  me  of  meeting  Tabashaw  in  the  woods  back  of  our 
Scratching  River  post  and  learning  some  important  news  from 
him,  Tabashaw  he  wished  me  to  understand,  need  no  longer 
lean  on  the  white  man.  I  encouraged  him  to  proceed,  and, 
hoping  for  a  drink,  he  explained: 

"Tabashaw  came  down  from  the  hills  to  the  strong  timber. 
He  was  three  days  without  eating.  While  singing  his  new  song 
a  man,  dressed  like  a  white  man,  came  to  him  and  told  him  of 
many  things.  This  man-spirit  told  Tabashaw  he  must  not  ask 
the  sun  to  help  him  when  he  made  feasts  or  new  medicines,  as 
he,  the  man-spirit,  the  great  Kitchimanito,  was  the  father  of 
all  life  and  the  only  power  to  help  the  Chippewas.  This  great 
spirit  told  Tabashaw  that  the  traders  did  not  treat  him  well, 
and  that  he,  the  great  spirit,  would  give  him  rum  and  tobacco 


90  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

and  ammunition  if  he  gave  his  medals  back  to  the  traders  and 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  them.  Tabashaw  told  me  all 
this." 

"He  is  a  liar,"  I  scoffed,  yet  glad  to  know  the  old  rascal's 
latest  plans  for  regaining  control  of  the  tribe  and  thereby  forc 
ing  the  traders  to  grant  all  his  whims. 

"Kitchimanito  goes  everywhere  to  turn  the  Indians  away 
from  the  whites.  Tabashaw  saw  his  moccasins  worn  to  pieces 
by  his  long  travels,"  persisted  Black  Robe. 

"If  you  believe  him,  go  to  him.  Tell  him  you  will  not  hunt 
for  the  traders.  If  he  is  not  a  liar  he  will  give  you  rum  which 
the  man-spirit  gave  to  him,"  I  advised. 

The  Robe  drew  a  long  face  and  grunted  in  despair. 

"I  will  take  my  woman  and  my  children  and  go  and  hunt 
bear,"  he  surrendered. 

There  were  now  two  long  tents  of  women  and  children  at 
the  post,  their  active  men  being  away  on  the  hunt.  I  used  these 
in  finishing  the  planting  and  in  doing  odd  chores.  The  day 
after  the  Robe  crossed  the  river  old  Tabashaw  arrived.  His 
manner  was  subdued  and  he  was  very  humble  when  he  came 
to  me  for  some  new  milk. 

"Where  is  the  milk  the  man-spirit  was  to  give  you?"  I 
jeered.  ''And  where  are  the  medals  you  were  to  give  back 
to  us?" 

"I  had  a  bad  dream,"  he  muttered,  turning  away. 

His  manner  was  strange.  He  forgot  to  threaten  me.  He 
wandered  apart  and  placed  his  wabeno  drum  before  him  and 
stared  at  it  gloomily.  To  draw  him  out  I  called  him  inside  the 
fort  and  gave  him  a  drink.  Even  after  that  his  downcast 
demeanour  continued.  This  was  not  play-acting.  I  tried  to 
get  him  to  talk,  but  he  would  only  say  that  he  had  had  a  bad 
dream. 

The  arrival  of  several  hunters,  all  Chippewas,  called  me 
from  him.  I  quickly  observed  these  were  sullen  and  uneasy 
about  something.  I  traded  their  skins  and  gave  them  rum 
and  sought  to  set  their  tongues  to  wagging,  but,  like  their 
chief,  they  remained  moody  and  taciturn.  The  situation  began 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  91 

to  get  on  my  nerves.  The  Indians  were  children.  Ordinarily 
it  was  very  simple  to  learn  their  intentions,  despite  their  ex 
pressionless  features,  but  to  get  behind  their  thoughts  it  was 
necessary  to  make  them  talk.  So  long  as  the  chief  and  the 
hunters  sat  in  gloomy  silence  I  could  learn  nothing,  while  my 
imagination  pictured  all  sorts  of  disagreeable  events  about  to 
happen. 

Anxious  to  get  at  the  truth,  I  went  after  Flat  Mouth.  I 
despaired  when  I  observed  that  even  this  intelligent  and — with 
me — very  frank  fellow  was  sobered  almost  to  the  point  of  de 
jection.  At  first  he  would  make  no  reply  to  my  questions, 

"My  friend,  the  great  war-chief  of  the  Pillagers,  looks  sad 
when  four  Sioux  scalps  hang  in  his  tent.  And  he  refuses  to 
tell  his  white  brother,  who  would  drive  the  shadows  away,'*  I 
complained. 

"My  brother  can  not  drive  the  shadows  away,"  he  grunted. 

"Medicine  is  strong." 

"Was  it  strong  enough  to  bring  the  Voice  here  from  the 
River  That  Calls?" 

I  knew  I  had  it.  By  indirection  I  had  learned  what  a  month 
of  cross-examination  would  not  have  told  me. 

"Flat  Mouth  is  sad  because  the  Voice  has  gone  back  to  its 
home  on  the  Qu'Appelle,"  I  boldly  stated. 

Assuming  I  knew  all  about  it,  he  said — 

"It  has  gone  back.  The  woman  with  the  medicine  hair  sent 
it  back." 

Old  Tabashaw's  gloomy  bearing  and  the  depression  of  the 
hunters  was  now  easily  understood. 

"That  is  why  your  people  are  so  sad  even  when  they  have 
new  milk,"  I  said. 

"It  was  great  wabeno  medicine  while  it  was  with  us,"  he 
regretted. 

"How  do  the  Chippewas  feel  toward  the  woman?" 

"They  are  very  angry,  but  they  are  very  afraid  of  her." 

"They  would  like  to  have  her  scalp  nailed  to  a  tent  pole," 
I  suggested. 

"They  are  afraid  to  go  near  her.    No  one  dares  harm  her." 


92  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"No  one  can  harm  her,"  I  cried.  "She  is  mighty  medicine. 
She  called  the  Voice  here.  She  has  sent  it  back.  She  can  call 
it  again  when  she  will." 

This  possibility  caused  his  eyes  to  glisten. 

"I  will  tell  my  people,  so  their  hearts  will  not  be  hard  against 
her,"  he  said,  rising  and  making  for  the  stockade. 

The  result  of  Flat  Mouth's  interview  with  his  friends  was 
soon  apparent.  Tabashaw  began  beating  his  drum  and  the 
hunters  found  much  vivacity  in  their  wine.  Scarcely  had  this 
improvement  taken  place  when  two  tents  of  Crees  and  two  of 
Assiniboins  brought  in  their  hunt.  Their  arrival  was  marked 
with  poorly  veiled  hostility  toward  the  Chippewas,  and  yet  they 
seemed  striving  to  hide  elation.  They  eyed  the  Chippewas 
askance  and  kept  their  bows  and  arrows  in  their  hands  and 
camped  by  themselves. 

This  was  unusual,  as  the  three  tribes  ordinarily  fraternized 
when  meeting  at  the  posts.  The  weaker  party  during  a  drink- 
ing-match  usually  desires  to  keep  its  weapons  close  at  hand,  but 
this  precaution  is  taken  to  protect  them  against  the  effects  of  the 
rum,  rather  than  because  of  any  tribal  antipathy.  To  be  on 
their  guard  when  not  in  liquor  had  an  ugly  look. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  I  demanded  of  a  Cree. 
"You  act  as  if  you  had  passed  war-tobacco  with  the  Assiniboins 
against  my  Chippewas.  What  do  you  mean?" 

"We  are  afraid  of  the  Chippewas.  Our  hearts  are  warm 
toward  Tabashaw  and  his  people,  but  their  hearts  are  black 
against  us,"  he  replied. 

"Why  should  you  fear  the  Chippewas?" 

"The  Voice  is  back  on  the  River  That  Calls.  The  Chippe 
was  are  sad  and  angry  at  losing  their  medicine.  They  will 
trade  no  more  skins  at  the  X.  Y." 

"What  about  your  trade?" 

"We  bring  our  hunt  here.  The  Medicine  Hair  told  us  we 
could  have  no  new  milk.  We  can  get  milk  here." 

"You  took  your  hunt  there  when  you  could  not  get  milk,"  I 
reminded. 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  93 

"That  was  when  she  had  the  Voice.  Now  it  is  back  on  the 
river  we  come  here." 

"See  that  you  are  very  careful  what  you  do,  or  the  Medicine 
Hair  will  take  the  Voice  away  from  you,"  I  warned.  "If  any 
of  you  have  not  paid  your  debts  to  the  X.  Y.,  take  your  furs 
and  do  it,  or  she  will  be  angry." 

It  seemed  that  one  hunter  did  owe  the  X.  Y.  a  debt,  and 
as  a  result  of  my  talk  with  the  Cree  he  was  made  to  do  up  his 
skins  and  hold  them  out  of  the  trade  with  the  N.  W.  This 
was  scarcely  good  policy  when  the  rival  companies  were  bending 
every  energy  to  get  the  best  of  each  other,  but  I  had  passed 
my  word  to  her.  She  had  meant  it  when  she  said  I  should 
receive  more  furs — that  she  would  let  the  trade  come  to  me 
because  of  what  I  did  to  Chabot.  Royal  pay  for  a  slight  ser 
vice,  but  somehow  there  was  scant  consolation  in  it.  It  was 
like  having  an  opponent  clearly  demonstrate  he  can  defeat  you 
at  your  own  game  and  then  quit  playing  from  weariness  or 
some  whim. 

Could  I  have  secured  the  trade  with  rum,  leaving  her  hands 
empty  despite  her  taking  advantage  of  the  Indians'  superstitions, 
I  should  have  felt  much  better.  However,  the  trade  continued 
coming  in,  with  very  little  going  to  the  X.  Y.,  and  the  bulk  of 
that  returning  down-river  because  I  refused  to  buy  from  a 
hunter  in  debt  to  my  rival. 

The  monotony  of  refusing,  then  judiciously  dealing  out 
drams;  of  threatening,  then  cajoling  the  hunters,  wore  on  me. 
My  thoughts  were  too  much  given  to  wandering  down  the 
river.  I  gave  too  much  time  to  picturing  the  woman.  I  re 
sented  her  attitude  of  aloofness.  After  all,  we  were  both 
young  and  of  the  same  race.  Even  though  we  were  trade 
rivals,  there  was  no  reason  why,  as  human  beings,  we  should 
not  see  each  other  and  enjoy  each  other's  company. 

I  was  decently  spoken,  having  a  far  better  education  than 
many  Northmen.  I  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  East 
and  was  familiar  with  New  York  and  other  Atlantic  cities, 
as  well  as  with  Montreal  and  Quebec.  The  Hudson  Bay 
was  a  persistent  rival;  yet  there  were  times  when  the  heads 


94  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

of  departments  declared  a  truce  and  exchanged  civilities.  I've 
seen  Mr.  Henry  open  a  keg  of  brandy  and  share  it  with  an  H. 
B.  factor,  the  two  of  them  getting  quite  merry  and  performing 
with  much  zest  on  the  fife  and  drum,  and  we  have  taken  packs 
down  to  the  Forks  for  them  and  have  granted  and  received  like 
favours  from  the  X.  Y. 

It  was  while  securing  furs  that  we  nipped  each  other — often 
till  blood  flowed.  All  of  which  means  I  was  uneasy  in  spirit 
and  ashamed  to  admit  even  to  myself  that  I  wanted  to  see  that 
wonderful  red  hair  again. 

I  tried  to  believe  my  mental  depression  was  due  to  my  desire 
to  be  employed  in  the  American  fur  trade,  I  being  bom  an 
American.  This  was  a  silly  deception  to  attempt,  as  there 
was  no  American  company  to  hire  me.  To  be  a  Northman 
one  must  go  to  the  great  Northwest  and  hire  out  to  one  of  the 
three  companies  I  have  named. 

Months  later,  I  was  to  learn  that  a  scant  two  months  behind 
me  the  door  had  been  opened  to  American  adventurers,  when 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  hoisted  over  St.  Louis  on  the  tenth 
of  March,  marking  the  transfer  of  the  magnificent  Louisiana 
territory  to  the  United  States.  But  many  a  long  trail  was  to 
be  travelled  before  I  could  return  East  and  hear  how  the 
flags  of  Spain,  of  France  and  of  the  United  States  flew  over 
St.  Louis,  all  within  twenty-four  hours, 

There  was  no  escaping  the  fact  that  the  girl  was  in  my  mind 
and  was  bothering  me.  Then,  suddenly,  came  the  chilling 
fear  that  she  might  be  gone.  I  had  refrained  from  going  down 
the  river.  Her  attitude  had  not  been  friendly.  She  wanted 
to  be  alone.  Very  well,  I  had  haughtily  told  myself,  it  should 
be  as  she  wished — then  the  dread  lest  she  had  been  relieved. 

Once  the  X.  Y.  people  learned  of  her  father's  death,  they 
would  lose  no  time  in  shifting  a  man  from  the  Assiniboin  to  the 
Scratching  to  permit  her  leaving  the  river  before  cold  weather 
set  in.  The  idea  became  fixed  in  my  mind  and  tormented  me. 
She  was  buying  no  skins;  there  was  no  excuse  for  her  remain 
ing.  If  a  summer  man  was  not  sent  out,  then  Angus  could  look 
after  the  post,  and  I  was  booked  for  the  summer  and  winter — a 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  95 

whole  year — without  another  opportunity  of  looking  on  a  white 
woman. 

It  wasn't  love  for  her  that  called  me,  I  stoutly  told  myself; 
for  I  knew  we  could  not  exchange  a  half  dozen  sentences  with 
out  quarrelling.  But  she  was  a  white  woman,  the  only  one  in 
the  department.  She  aroused  my  resentment,  and  yet  I  was 
miserable  for  wanting  to  see  her. 

At  last  I  ceased  trying  to  fool  myself  and  made  for  the  river. 
I  would  canoe  down  to  the  Scratching,  make  an  errand  of 
looking  over  our  post  and  at  least  get  a  glimpse  of  her,  if  she 
had  not  already  departed  from  the  country.  I  found  the  Rat 
talking  earnestly  with  Flat  Mouth,  and  his  presence  aggra 
vated  my  fears.  Addressing  him  in  Chippewa  to  provoke 
a  more  voluble  flow  of  language,  I  asked — 

"What  is  the  Red  Hair  doing?" 

"She  makes  ready  to  go  away,"  he  replied. 

My  heart  gave  a  jump. 

"When  does  she  go  down  the  river?"  I  carelessly  inquired. 

"Up,  not  down,"  he  corrected. 

I  scowled  at  him,  thinking  he  was  lying  to  me.  He  eagerly 
explained : 

"She  goes  to  make  discoveries  in  the  Red  Lake  River  country. 
She  thinks  to  send  hunters  there." 

"She  can  get  no  hunters,"  I  sneered. 

"She  thinks  she  can  get  some  Crees,  some  Assiniboins,"  he 
retorted. 

I  began  to  believe  that  she  could.  All  she  need  do  would  be 
to  threaten  a  second  theft  of  the  Voice  from  the  Qu'Appelle. 
I  began  to  feel  normal,  to  look  on  her  as  a  rival  whom  I  must 
best  in  trade. 

"Is  she  going  herself?" 

"She  takes  a  guide — maybe  a  family  of  Crees." 

"When  does  she  go?" 

"She  did  not  tell  me.    She  talks  with  no  one." 

"But  you  should  know  if  you  go  with  her.  Would  a  deep 
dram  of  strong  milk  make  you  remember?" 

He  groaned  at  his  misfortune  and  replied : 


96  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"I  do  not  go  with  her,  so  I  do  not  know.  She  asked  me, 
but  it  is  too  near  the  summer  war-path  of  the  Sioux." 

"Flat  Mouth,  chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas,  has  scared 
the  Sioux  back  to  their  holes,"  scornfully  cried  my  Indian. 
Then  to  my  amazement,  "I  go  with  the  Medicine  Hair." 

"Did  the  Rat  come  to  hire  you  ?"  I  sharply  demanded.  The 
Rat  drew  away,  looking  very  uncomfortable.  Flat  Mouth 
readily  admitted — 

"She  knows  I  am  a  great  warrior." 

"She  doesn't  make  any  bones  of  hiring  my  men,  it  seems!" 
And  my  resentment  grew  very  strong. 

"Her  hair  is  great  medicine.  She  calls  the  Voice.  It  comes. 
She  tells  it  to  go  to  sleep.  It  is  gone.  I  go  with  her,"  calmly 
answered  the  chief. 

This  hiring  of  my  man  was  a  most  serious  affront.  It  was  a 
trick  for  which  only  a  woman's  logic  would  find  an  excuse.  A 
man  might  do  it,  but  he  would  provide  some  shadow  of  an 
excuse.  She  was  going  about  it  openly,  ignoring  my  wishes. 
The  worst  of  all  was  my  inability  to  restrain  the  chief.  He 
had  said  he  would  go,  and  there  was  no  stopping  him.  The 
devil  was  in  that  woman's  hair  if  it  were  strong  enough  to  bind 
Flat  Mouth  to  her  service. 

Hot  with  the  indignity  she  had  put  upon  me,  I  walked  back 
to  the  fort.  After  the  first  flush  of  anger  had  exhausted  itself, 
I  discovered  my  state  of  mind  was  wofully  twisted.  I  was 
glad,  in  a  sneaking  fashion,  that  she  was  not  on  her  way  to 
the  Forks. 

Her  cool  impudence  in  securing  a  guide  at  the  post  without 
even  asking  my  leave  somehow  hinted  at  the  eternal  feminine,  a 
quality  I  had  steadfastly  refused  to  detect  in  her.  It  was  good 
to  think  I  might  see  her  again,  even  if  only  to  reproach  her  for 
her  insolence;  I  could  not  get  over  the  conviction  that  it  was 
decidedly  raw  for  her  to  send  the  Rat  to  hire  my  best  Indian.  I 
could  not  forgive  her  going  over  my  head  in  that  fashion.  Did 
a  man  wish  to  borrow  the  Pillager,  he  would  offer  me  some 
skins  as  a  bonus.  Being  a  woman,  she  quietly  appropriated 
what  she  desired.  It  wounded  my  self-esteem,  and  yet  pro- 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  97 

longed  meditation  brought  me  to  the  point  where  I  could  appre 
ciate  the  irony  of  it  and  grin  a  bit. 

I  had  wild  thoughts  of  trying  to  talk  Flat  Mouth  out  of  the 
trip,  but  retained  sense  enough  to  know  that  such  an  effort 
would  be  about  as  successful  as  to  attempt  conversation  with 
a  wounded  buffalo  bull. 

He  was  the  best  of  his  complexion  I  ever  met.  At  times  you 
would  forget  he  was  an  Indian.  But  superstition  could  drive 
him  every  which  way.  He  liked  me.  He  enjoyed  many  privi 
leges  because  I  both  liked  and  trusted  him.  We  had  been 
friends.  Yet,  without  a  word  of  warning,  he  was  to  leave  me 
and  guide  a  rival  to  one  of  the  few  remaining  beaver  localities, 
and  all  because  of  some  red  hair. 

I  grinned  more  broadly,  although  sardonically.  Her  lack  of 
logic  grimly  amused  me  now;  perhaps  because  it  revealed  the 
woman  in  her.  How  fiercely  she  had  upbraided  me  for  follow 
ing  the  time-honoured  custom  of  trading  rum  for  pelts — a  cus 
tom  that  was  followed  from  Hudson  Bay  to  the  Willamett. 
Then  she  deliberately  stole  a  man  without  even  a  "thank  you," 
or  "by  your  leave." 

I  sternly  told  myself  she  needed  taming.  I  found  the  Rat 
and  asked  him — 

"When  do  you  go  back  to  the  Scratching?" 

"At  once,  unless  I  am  asked  to  stop  for  a  dram.  It  is  very 
dry  at  the  post  and  I  am  very  thirsty.  My  throat  is  like  the 
prairie  after  the  fires  have  scorched  it." 

"Come  inside!  You  shall  have  a  dram,  and  a  keg  to  take 
back  with  you,"  I  promised. 

"New  milk  is  good,"  he  murmured,  his  mouth  watering.  "I 
will  take  a  dram.  Let  the  keg  wait  for  me  here,  till  after  the 
woman  goes  up  the  river." 

I  assured  him  the  liquor  would  be  held  in  trust  for  him. 
He  confessed  that  she  was  making  life  miserable  for  him  and 
Angus  by  refusing  them  liquor. 

"After  she  is  gone,  the  clerk  and  I  will  have  a  big  drunk," 
he  gloated. 

"Then  why  do  you  stay  with  her?    I  will  make  it  a  big  keg 


98  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

for  you  two.  Why  not  come  up  here?  I  will  hire  both  you 
and  Angus.  If  a  man  behaves  he  can  have  plenty  of  rum  here." 

He  sadly  shook  his  head  and  drifted  into  French  as  he 
answered : 

"It  is  to  be  wished,  to  be  prayed  for — the  beautiful  rum! 
But  I  would  be  cursed.  A  bad  sign  would  be  on  me." 

"Bah  !    She  has  made  you  believe  such  foolishness?" 

"She  says  nothing.  If  I  went  and  told  her  I  was  leaving 
the  post,  she  would  say  nothing.  She  does  not  seem  to  know  I 
am  at  the  post.  Since  her  father  died,  her  eyes  look  very  far 
away.  I  do  not  want  to  stay,  yet  I  know  it  would  bring  me 
bad  luck  to  leave  her.  After  she  goes  up  the  river  I  will  call 
for  the  keg — the  big  keg." 

"You  will  start  down  the  river  at  once,"  I  directed.  "You 
will  stop  at  the  mouth  of  the  Reed  and  find  Probos.  Tell  him 
I  say  for  him  to  come  up  here  at  once.  He  is  not  to  bring 
the  Indians,  He  will  stay  here  for  a  few  days." 

The  Rat  readily  promised  to  carry  my  message,  downed  his 
dram  and  returned  to  the  canoe  and  set  off.  I  waited  till  he 
was  out  of  sight  and  then  attempted  to  pump  Flat  Mouth.  The 
chief  did  not  seem  to  know  just  when  his  services  would  be 
required.  I  got  the  notion  he  was  evading  me.  I  knew  it 
would  be  useless  to  press  him. 

That  night  I  had  a  stroke  of  luck.  One  of  the  Red  Sucker 
band  dropped  down  the  river  and  brought  me  five  wonderful 
white  buffalo  skins,  four  of  them  young  bulls  slain  in  January 
below  Grandes  Fourches,  and  one,  a  calf,  killed  recently.  The 
hair  on  the  bulls  was  like  that  of  sheep — fleecy  and  soft  and  all 
white.  The  calfskin  was  white  except  for  a  black  spot  encir 
cling  the  right  eye.  The  Chippewas  prize  these  white  robes  and 
skins  only  for  what  they  will  bring  in  trade,  but  there  are  other 
tribes,  especially  those  on  the  Missouri,  which  will  barter  any  «f 
their  possessions  to  secure  one. 

So  I  called  it  a  stroke  of  luck,  my  getting  them ;  for  I  planned 
to  use  them  to  the  great  advantage  of  the  N.  W.  company  before 
I  quit  the  country.  The  Indian  said  he  had  seen  no  sign  of 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  99 

> 

Sioux,  that  he  had  talked  with  my  two  hunters  on  the  Goose, 
and  that  they  were  taking  beaver. 

The  story  of  our  victory  over  the  Sioux — rather  Flat 
Mouth's  victory,  for  he  was  being  given  all  the  credit — had 
spread  throughout  the  country  with  that  celerity  with  which 
news  ever  travels  in  the  wilds.  It  was  taken  for  granted  that, 
after  such  a  rebuff,  the  Sioux  would  not  travel  north  on  another 
path  until  spring.  They  would  be  sure  to  expect  the  Chippe- 
was,  emboldened  by  the  great  coup,  to  venture  south  and  seek  a 
second  victory. 

Probos  came  in  due  season  and  I  manufactured  excuses  to 
keep  him,  but  it  was  two  days  after  his  arrival  that  I  got  up 
one  morning  to  find  Flat  Mouth  had  gone.  No  one  seemed 
to  know  when  he  departed.  Old  Tabashaw,  I  suspected,  had 
an  inkling  of  the  Pillager's  engagement,  for  he  performed  on 
his  drum  with  sullen  zeal,  as  if  sending  his  medicine  after  some 
one  he  feared.  He  sang,  without  giving  any  names,  and  called 
on  the  Great  Mystery  to  revenge  the  Chippewas. 

I  knew  I  held  a  thread  to  the  puzzle  in  the  ten-gallon  keg  of 
high  wine  I  intended  to  present  to  the  Rat  and  Angus.  De 
positing  the  liquor  on  the  bank  and  seating  myself  beside  it,  I 
waited.  An  hour  of  impatience  and  then  the  nose  of  a  canoe 
scraped  the  willows  on  the  west  bank,  announcing  the  arrival 
of  the  Rat.  From  the  slack  water  under  the  willows  he  spied 
on  the  landing-place  before  the  fort,  then  scanned  the  upper 
reaches  of  the  river  and  propelled  his  light  craft  forward. 

"When  did  she  pass  the  post?"  I  asked,  kicking  the  keg 
toward  him. 

"About  the  middle  of  the  night,"  he  replied,  tenderly  setting 
the  wine  in  his  canoe.  "The  clerk  stands  on  the  bank  before 
the  fort,  his  tongue  hanging  out  like  a  blown  bull's,  waiting 
for  me  to  come  back." 

"You  followed  her?" 

"Not  too  close.  I  timed  myself  to  arrive  here  after  sunrise. 
Ran  the  canoe  into  a  sunken  tree  in  the  night  and  dared  not  try 
to  shove  off  till  light  came.  At  the  speed  she  was  paddling,  I 
know  she  must  have  passed  here  in  the  night." 


ioo  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Flat  Mouth  has  gone.  Did  he  know  when  she  was  coming?" 

"Yes,  she  was  to  sound  her  call,  if  she  came  in  the  night.  He 
was  to  be  waiting  for  her." 

"Did  she  bring  any  Indians  with  her?" 

"She  came  alone." 

I  swore  and  wished  I  had  made  it  a  smaller  keg.  The  rascal 
had  said  nothing  about  Miss  Dearness's  plans  to  make  a  signal 
to  the  Pillager. 

"I  thought  he  would  tell  you,"  he  artlessly  remarked,  sending 
his  canoe  into  midstream  with  a  deft  sweep  of  the  paddle. 

"Do  you  know  where  they  go  first  ?"  I  called  after  him. 

"To  the  mouth  of  Riviere  du  Lac  Rouge  where  the  war 
road  of  the  Sioux  ends.  Where  the  Sioux  wait  many  days  when 
watching  the  Chippewa  hunters  to  come  down  the  Thief,  the 
Clearwater  and  the  Wild  Rice  Rivers." 

Thanks  to  the  fear  my  double-barrelled  gun  had  instilled  in 
the  Sioux,  the  woman  and  her  guide  would  be  free  from  any 
danger  even  if  they  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Red  Lake  River 
and  proceeded  so  far  south,  even,  as  the  mouth  of  the  Cheyenne. 

Now  that  I  knew  they  were  only  twelve  hours  ahead  I  was 
undecided  as  to  what  I  should  do.  I  had  called  Probos  from 
the  Reed,  intending  to  follow  them.  Now,  face  to  face  with 
the  business,  I  weakened.  I  had  no  warrant  to  follow  her.  She 
did  not  wish  my  company.  She  had  planned  to  pass  the  post 
in  the  night  so  that  I  might  not  know  of  her  presence.  This 
was  not  because  of  any  trade  delicacy  on  her  part,  as  she  had 
not  scrupled  to  hire  my  best  man  to  guide  her.  If  she  wished 
to  avoid  me,  what  an  awkward  situation  I  would  be  in  should 
I  follow  and  find  her. 

I  set  Probos  to  work  to  arrange  a  place  for  the  season's  hay, 
some  three  thousand  bundles  if  we  had  luck ;  then  I  developed 
great  energy  in  having  defective  stockade  posts  of  poplar  re 
placed  by  some  of  oak.  In  truth,  for  nearly  an  hour  I  was 
desperately  busy  trying  to  make  myself  believe  I  had  washed 
her  and  her  red  head  out  of  mind.  Could  Simon  McTavish 
have  dropped  in  and  witnessed  my  industry,  he  surely  would 
have  appointed  me  to  head  an  important  department. 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  101 

My  artificial  zeal  died  as  abruptly  as  does  an  Indian's  rum- 
courage.  Leaving  the  work  on  the  stockade  to  take  care  of  it 
self,  I  walked  moodily  down  to  the  river  and  thought  of  that 
other  river,  Qu'  Appelle — Who  Calls — and  in  my  fancy  I  heard 
her  calling — this  woman  with  the  red  hair.  She  had  called  in 
passing  the  post  and  the  Pillager  had  heard  her.  I  almost  wished 
there  were  danger  from  the  Sioux,  so  I  could  use  it  as  an  excuse 
for  setting  out  after  her.  Above  all  else,  I  did  not  care  to 
appear  foolish  in  her  eyes.  I  was  positive  she  repelled  me.  I 
took  great  satisfaction  in  telling  myself  this,  and  yet  I  fidgeted 
around,  seeking  a  reason  for  following  her. 

This  attempt  to  fool  myself  soon  gave  way  before  a  satisfac- 
tory  purpose.  I  would  deceive  her.  I  would  go  up  the  river 
and  encounter  her,  but  I  would  have  a  legitimate  errand  and 
our  meeting  should  appear  to  be  the  work  of  chance. 

Once  I  cast  aside  all  pretences  and  squarely  admitted  I  would 
make  an  errand  to  take  me  after  her,  the  way  became  easy. 
There  were  the  white  robes.  I  would  pack  them  in  my  canoe 
and  stalk  her  until  I  knew  she  and  her  guide  had  entered  the 
mouth  of  Red  Lake  River ;  then  I  would  turn  in  after  them, 
pretending  I  had  come  down  the  river,  where  I  had  traded  for 
the  skins. 

Flat  Mouth  would  understand  this  was  some  subterfuge  of 
mine  but  he  would  never  tell  her.  The  scheme  tickled  my 
fancy.  I  would  display  surprise  on  overtaking  her.  I  would 
pretend  I  thought  I  was  following  two  of  my  hunters.  Natu 
rally  I  would  exhibit  displeasure  at  her  hiring  the  Pillager. 
Whether  we  got  along  or  quarrelled,  I  would  stimulate  fear 
of  the  Sioux  and  stay  by  her  down  the  river. 

Procuring  the  skins  and  baling  them  neatly,  I  put  them  with 
my  gun  in  the  canoe,  together  with  tobacco  and  a  hook  and 
line — the  men  were  now  taking  many  fish  on  the  line.  With  a 
final  word  to  Probos  to  look  after  things  until  I  returned,  and  a 
stern  command  that  he  should  give  out  no  liquor,  I  started  on 
my  eccentric  journey. 

I  was  much  ashamed  of  myself,  for  I  feared  I  was  weak; 
somehow,  though,  I  was  brazenly  contented  with  the  thought 


102  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

that  I  should  soon  see  her.  I  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Park  at 
sunset.  A  short  distance  beyond,  I  came  to  a  dead  fire  and  the 
bones  of  several  catfish,  showing  where  they  had  paused  to'  eat. 
There  were  two  canoes  and  she  was  doing  her  own  paddling. 
I  kindled  a  fire,  caught  some  fish  and  made  my  camp  there. 

Nothing  broke  the  monotony  of  the  river  until  I  reached  the 
Big  Salt  and  began  paddling  by  the  long  slough  which  extends 
from  that  stream  to  the  Turtle  River.  I  was  marvelling  at  the 
immense  number  of  wild-fowl  in  the  marsh  and  was  tempted 
to  recharge  my  gun  with  light  shot  and  bag  a  few,  when  several 
birds  at  the  river  bank  rose  in  the  air.  I  ceased  paddling  and 
rested  my  gun  across  my  knees  and  closely  watched  the  surface 
of  the  tall  grass,  wondering  what  had  alarmed  the  fowl. 

It  was  not  my  approach,  for  the  countless  numbers  feeding 
abreast  of  me  had  not  taken  fright.  While  I  was  debating  the 
problem,  the  birds  began  rising  far  down  toward  the  Turtle,  a 
vast  cloud  of  them,  which  gradually  spread  and  covered  the 
entire  slough  as  the  fear  radiated.  The  first  to  take  flight 
seemed  to  draw  others  up  after  them  as  the  sun  sucks  up  the 
vapours  in  the  early  morning.  In  a  minute  the  heavens  were  in 
a  furious  commotion. 

Paddling  cautiously,  I  glided  along  close  to  the  bank,  my  gaze 
sweeping  the  shore  at  the  mouth  of  the  Turtle.  The  tall  reeds 
a  short  distance  ahead  became  alive  with  motion,  and,  with  a 
twist  of  the  paddle,  I  was  backing  into  cover. 

A  canoe  darted  out,  filled  with  women  and  children,  the 
former  bowing  low  and  paddling  frantically.  They  were  closely 
followed  by  a  second  canoe,  likewise  holding  women  and  chil 
dren.  A  few  rods  behind  the  second  came  a  third  canoe,  and 
in  this  I  recognized  Bad  Ax  and  White  Partridge. 

As  they  bore  downstream,  those  who  were  not  paddling  kept 
a  constant  watch  to  the  rear.  It  was  plain  that  my  hunters 
were  afraid  of  something  and,  with  their  families,  were  fleeing 
down  the  river. 

The  warriors,  as  was  proper,  brought  up  the  rear,  to  stave  off 
death  and  permit  their  women  and  little  ones  to  escape.  I  have 
never  known  this  trait  to  fail  of  expression  in  the  Indian.  He 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  103 

may  kill  his  wife  when  drunk,  or  brutally  disfigure  her,  but  in 
event  of  an  enemy  attack  there  is  none  so  cowardly  as  not  to 
take  the  fighting  position  in  the  rear.  I  waited  until  the  two 
canoes  of  women  passed,  then  drove  my  craft  across  the  course 
of  the  warriors  and  held  up  my  hand  and  called  out  my  name. 

With  a  powerful  sweep  of  their  paddles  they  swerved  wide 
to  run  by  me  and  yelped  something  I  could  not  understand. 
Turning  my  canoe  downstream,  I  laid  to  the  paddle  and  drove 
alongside  of  them  until  the  canoes  locked.  White  Partridge 
was  in  the  stern.  I  grabbed  his  shoulder  and  forced  him  to 
desist  paddling  until  he  had  explained  his  flight. 

He  turned  a  face  on  me  that  was  distorted  with  terror  and 
gasped  out  "Sioux!"  and  tried  to  cast  off  my  hand. 

"You  saw  red  deer,"  I  cried.  "There  are  no  Sioux  on  the 
war  road  since  we  killed  them  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thief." 

"Bad  Ax  saw  them  creeping  through  the  woods  on  the  east 
bank  of  the  Red  just  below  our  camp  on  the  Goose,"  he  cried, 
his  teeth  chattering. 

"He  lied  to  you !  He  wanted  to  get  £ack  to  the  post  and 
get  rum,"  I  said.  "He  is  a  lazy  dog." 

"We  saw  their  horses"  protested  Bad  Ax  over  his  shoulder. 
"We  counted  them.  "There  were  so  many."  And  he  opened 
and  closed  his  left  hand  until  he  had  indicated  thirty.  "I  had 
crossed  to  the  east  bank  after  a  bear.  I  came  upon  them  in  the 
woods.  They  did  not  see  me.  I  was  very  near.  Some  were 
making  new  moccasins.  Some  were  sticking  willow  sticks  in 
the  ground  and  painting  their  faces.  Some  were  creeping  to  the 
river — right  toward  me !" 

The  recollection  caused  him  to  give  a  little  yelp  and  redouble 
his  efforts  at  the  paddle.  White  Partridge  took  up  the  tale 
and  said: 

"There  were  ten  warriors  left  with  the  horses.  They  left 
all  their  horses  on  the  west  bank.  They  will  kill  everyone 
on  the  river." 

He  now  succeeded  in  jerking  himself  free  of  my  grip  and, 
with  the  two  paddles  working  as  one,  they  sped  after  their 
families,  leaving  me  to  chew  over  the  problem. 


104  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

It  was  the  canoes  of  my  hunters,  hiding  in  the  edge  of  the 
marsh,  that  had  frightened  the  wild-fowl.  If  any  of  the  Sioux 
were  within  miles  of  the  slough  they  knew  by  this  time  that 
something  was  moving  on  the  river  which  might  repay  them  for 
investigating.  I  hastened  to  withdraw  from  midstream  to  the 
shelter  of  the  rushes  and  reeds. 

I  had  not  had  time  to  ask  the  hunters  if  they  had  seen  any 
thing  of  Flat  Mouth  and  the  woman.  I  believed  they  had  not 
seen  them,  or  else  they  would  have  mentioned  the  fact;  or, 
rather,  the  Pillager  and  Miss  Dearness  would  be  returning  with 
them. 

Then  I  angrily  declared  there  could  be  no  Sioux.  Aside  from 
the  startled  water-fowl,  scared  by  my  hunters,  there  wasn't  a 
hostile  sign  to  be  discovered  up  or  down  the  river.  Bad  Ax 
had  heard  a  noise  in  the  woods,  probably  that  made  by  the  red 
deer  as  they  passed  along  in  single  file  over  one  of  their  many 
paths,  feeding.  His  timid  imagination  had  transformed  the  un 
seen  into  Sioux  warriors. 

White  Partridge  had  wandered  from  the  river  to  the  edge  of 
the  plains.  He  had  seen  deer  a-t  a  distance.  The  stories  of  the 
two  men  had  frightened  the  wits  out  of  their  women.  Scarcely 
a  week  during  the  spring  and  fall  but  what  Indians  were  racing 
down  the  river,  spreading  alarms  which  amounted  to  nothing. 
The  shadow  was  always  over  them,  and  the  least  excuse  for  a 
panic  was  quickly  acted  upon. 

Still,  I  would  have  felt  easier  in  my  mind  if  Bad  Ax's  tally 
of  the  warriors  on  the  east  bank  and  the  Partridge's  count  of 
the  horses  on  the  west  bank,  guarded  by  ten  warriors,  had  not 
squared  up  so  nicely.  Neither  of  the  men  was  in  a  mood  which 
would  permit  calculation.  The  number  of  horses  agreed  with 
the  number  of  warriors. 

Quitting  my  shelter,  I  resumed  my  journey  south  with  rapid 
strokes,  eager  to  make  the  mouth  of  the  Red  Lake  River.  Should 
there  be  any  truth  in  the  Chippewas*  alarm,  and  had  the  enemy 
unaccountably  returned  to  spread  along  both  banks  of  the  river, 
then  the  girl  was  in  danger. 

Once  more  I  caught  an  agitation  among  the  reeds  and  grass 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  105 

on  my  side  of  the  river.  Knowing  that  all  the  Goose  River 
Indians  had  passed  me,  I  drove  my  canoe  into  cover  for  the 
second  time.  Once  in  the  swamp  growth,  I  could  see  but  little. 
A  rod  in  front,  flowed  the  river ;  as  for  the  rest,  I  had  to  depend 
upon  my  ears. 

Five  minutes  passed,  I  estimated,  before  I  heard  a  flap-flap  at 
the  edge  of  the  river  where  it  merges  with  the  rank  growth  of 
the  slough.  With  the  gun  ready  to  be  cocked  and  discharged, 
I  pulled  my  knife  and  waited. 

The  commotion  drew  nearer  until  it  was  nearly  abreast  of 
me.  Whatever  it  was,  it  was  in  the  clear  water  but  close  to  the 
reeds.  It  turned  into  the  marsh  grass  in  the  path  left  by  my 
canoe  and  I  laughed  aloud  in  relief  as  I  glimpsed  the  long,  gray 
neck,  twisting  like  a  serpent,  and  the  flapping  wing. 

It  was  a  swan,  disabled  by  mink  or  some  other  wild  thing, 
and  it  was  floundering  along  most  awkwardly.  I  sat  very 
quietly  while  the  bird  worked  its  way  nearer  the  canoe.  The 
grass  permitted  of  only  occasional  glimpses,  and  I  saw  it  was 
likely  to  blunder  full  against  the  canoe.  With  much  splashing 
it  came  through  the  last  thin  barrier,  its  head  moving  from  side 
to  side  in  a  curious  way. 

Like  the  jab  of  a  red-hot  knife-blade  I  remembered  my  loud 
laughter  which  should  have  frightened  the  bird  away.  Its  neck 
— it  was  never  still.  I  fastened  my  gaze  on  the  head  and 
followed  it  back  and  forth  until  I  discovered  the  eyes  were  dead. 
It  grazed  against  the  boat  and  at  the  same  moment  I  drove  the 
butt  of  my  gun  down  on  the  feathery  mass. 

Instantly  a  brown  hand  shot  up  and  gripped  the  side  of  the 
canoe  with  the  lithe  quickness  of  a  water-snake.  Before  the 
canoe  could  be  capsized  I  had  seized  the  hand  and  was  hanging 
over  the  opposite  side,  my  free  right  hand  holding  my  hunting- 
knife. 

The  body  of  the  swan  toppled  to  one  side,  revealing  the  head 
of  a  Sioux  hideous  with  war-paint.  As  our  eyes  met,  his  left 
hand  came  up  with  an  axe  and  he  opened  his  lips  to  sound  his 
yell  of  discovery.  But,  as  the  body  of  the  swan  fell  and  uncov 
ered  him,  I  pulled  on  his  hand,  propelling  myself  toward  him 


io6  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

before  he  could  use  the  axe,  and  drove  my  knife  through  his 
neck. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  there,  his  lips  parted  for  the  yell  and 
only  hloody  froth  coming  through  them.  He  sought  to  strike 
with  the  axe  and  hit  the  gunwale  a  feeble  blow.  I  released  him 
with  a  shove  and  with  both  hands  thrown  above  his  head  he 
settled  back  into  the  muddy  water  and  sank  from  sight. 

I  crouched  low  in  the  canoe,  expecting  that  the  sound  of  our 
struggle  would  bring  more  of  the  enemy.  The  slough  seemed 
calm  enough ;  the  water-fowl  were  returning  to  feed ;  the  river 
just  ahead  of  me  flowed  on  serenely.  My  nerves  grew  quiet  and 
I  sensed  the  stench  of  a  dead  buffalo  stranded  somewhere  near 
by.  The  stench  grew  intolerable  and  I  edged  my  canoe  forward 
through  the  last  fringe  of  grass  and  glanced  up  and  down  the 
river.  Above  my  position,  a  moose  was  climbing  the  eastern 
bank,  having  swum  across.  Dipping  softly,  I  crept  upstream. 

Before  coming  to  the  mouth  of  the  Turtle  I  turned  toward 
the  east  bank  and  crossed  at  my  best  speed,  darting  like  an 
arrow  under  the  low-hanging  willow  boughs.  I  reconnoitred 
from  this  position  and  found  the  river's  banks  quiet  enough. 

Not  satisfied,  I  left  the  canoe  and  crawled  up  the  bank  and 
advanced  some  distance  south,  seeking  signs  of  the  Sioux.  At 
almost  every  rod  I  aroused  red  deer  from  among  the  willows. 
At  last  I  realized  that  the  Sioux,  if  in  that  neighbourhood, 
would  do  the  same  and  thus  give  me  warning  of  their  approach. 

Returning  to  my  canoe,  confident  no  menace  was  stalking  me 
on  the  east  bank,  I  paddled  up  the  river,  giving  almost  all  my 
attention  to  the  west  bank,  i  camped  that  night  a  few  miles 
below  the  mouth  of  Red  Lake  River  and  was  nearly  devoured 
by  mosquitoes.  I  dared  not  make  a  smudge  and  could  only  pull 
my  white  robes  over  my  head  and  endure  it. 

Two  hours  before  sunrise  I  was  afloat  again,  gliding  up  the 
silent  river  and  giving  my  attention  to  the  beaches,  which  were 
beginning  to  appear  as  the  water  lowered.  There  were  no  signs 
in  the  muck,  that  I  could  find,  that  would  indicate  the  passage 
of  a  war  party  from  bank  to  bank.  On  arriving  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Red  Lake  River,  as  wide  as  the  Red  at  that  point,  I 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  107 

swerved  inshore  and  remained  quiet  for  an  hour  before  daring 
to  proceed. 

Once  above  the  mouth,  I  beached  my  canoe  on  the  east  bank 
and  had  not  stolen  along  three  rods  before  I  came  to  signs 
which  substantiated  Bad  Ax's  story.  Fully  a  score  of  savages 
had  crossed  the  river  at  this  point,  with  no  return  trail  showing. 

Moving  inland,  I  managed  to  follow  the  trail  through  a  grove 
of  strong  timber  and  much  prickly  ash  until  it  led  me  back  to 
the  Red  Lake  River  only  a  short  distance  above  its  junction 
with  the  Red. 

This  was  a  favourite  hiding-place  for  Sioux  war  parties.  It 
was  famous  for  sturgeon,  many  being  found  during  the  winter. 
Red  deer,  bear,  moose,  and  buffalo  abounded,  while  the  wild 
fowl  could  never  be  counted.  From  this  spot  the  Sioux  could 
watch  for  hunters  coming  down  from  the  Red  Lake  country,  or 
from  the  Goose  and  other  upper  tributaries  of  the  Red. 

Within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  where  I  struck  the  river  I 
came  upon  some  huts  of  elm  bark,  such  as  the  Sioux  build  when 
on  the  war-path.  These  huts  were  a  season  old  and  must  have 
accommodated  fully  a  hundred  men.  I  looked  them  over  care 
fully  and  failed  to  find  any  fresh  signs.  I  noted  many  poles 
used  in  stretching  beaver,  showing  they  had  combined  business 
with  pleasure. 

Except  for  the  Indian  I  had  killed  at  the  edge  of  the  slough 
and  the  tracks  in  the  mud,  I  had  found  nothing  to  indicate  there 
was  a  Sioux  in  the  country.  If  I  had  not  met  Bad  Ax  and 
White  Partridge  by  accident,  I  should  have  walked  or  paddled 
right  into  their  arms.  Even  now  they  might  be  watching  me 
from  any  point. 

Skirting  the  huts  and  warily  keeping  to  cover,  I  followed  up 
the  Red  Lake  River  and  observed  that  I  no  longer  scared  up  red 
deer.  A  few  miles  behind  me,  and  on  the  same  bank,  the  woods 
were  full  of  them.  The  coming  of  the  enemy  had  driven  them 
away. 

A  short  distance  above  the  huts  I  came  upon  some  little  sticks, 
painted  with  vermilion.  These  were  fresh  signs  and  such  as 
Sioux  war  parties  left  wherever  they  paused  to  renew  their  war 


io8  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

paint.  I  counted  the  sticks  and  they  tallied  with  the  tracks  in 
the  mud.  A  score  of  the  devils  were  on  my  side  of  the  river,  and 
it  was  a  miracle  that  Bad  Ax  could  have  discovered  them  and 
retreated  without  being  seen  and  slain. 

A  more  disturbing  thought  was  that  Miss  Dearness  and  Flat 
Mouth  were  in  that  immediate  vicinity.  It  looked  mighty  bad 
for  the  girl.  If  already  caught,  a  quick  death  was  the  kindest 
fate  I  could  wish  for  her.  The  thought  of  her  glorious  hair 
flapping  at  a  Sioux  bridle  made  a  madman  of  me  for  the  time 
being.  I  forgot  to  be  cautious  and  prowled  through  the  woods 
with  red  lights  always  flashing  before  my  eyes. 

The  undergrowth  directly  ahead  of  me  gave  way  before  in 
cautious  steps;  my  head  cleared  suddenly.  I  drew  aside  from 
the  deer  path  and  stood  close  by  the  river,  intending  to  discharge 
one  barrel  of  my  gun  and  drop  under  the  bank  to  seek  a  hole 
among  the  roots  of  one  of  the  giant  elms,  where  I  could  reload. 
The  slight  noises  were  repeated,  and  I  now  caught  the  sound 
of  laboured  breathing.  I  was  puzzled  that  a  Sioux  should  dis 
play  exhaustion.  The  berry  bushes  swayed  and  parted.  I  raised 
my  gun,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  dishevelled  red  hair.  I  lowered 
my  gun  and  Miss  Dearness  staggered  toward  me,  one  hand 
pressed  to  her  side,  her  blue  eyes  contracted  with  pain. 

She  did  not  see  me  until  almost  upon  me.  Her  gaze  widened 
in  surprise,  questioned,  and  then  lighted  with  hope.  She  could 
not  speak.  I  sprang  to  her  side,  passed  my  left  arm  around  her 
waist  and  felt  her  splendid  arm  thrown  about  my  neck.  Her 
hot  breath  was  in  my  face  as  I  bowed  my  head  and  whispered — 

"They're  on  your  trail." 

She  nodded  and  swallowed  convulsively,  not  from  fear  but 
from  exhaustion. 

"Have  they  got  Flat  Mouth?"  I  murmured. 

She  lifted  her  head  to  listen ;  I  did  likewise.  Off  to  one  side 
rang  out  the  scalp  cry  of  the  Pillager  Chippewa.  She  smiled 
wearily  and  choked — 

"Leading  them  off  my  trail." 

"Don't  try  to  talk,"  I  whispered.     "I  have  a  canoe  back  on 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  109 

the  river.  We  must  reach  it.  If  we  can  get  out  into  the  open 
we  may  stand  them  oft." 

" — after  me?"  was  all  I  caught  of  her  low  query. 

"But  they  haven't  got  you  yet,"  I  comforted. 

She  frowned  and  laboriously  corrected — 

"No;  you  came — after  me?" 

"Of  course,"  I  answered,  inclined  to  be  impatient  at  time 
wasted  on  what  was  perfectly  obvious. 

She  caught  at  her  throat  with  her  free  hand  and  I  saw  she 
was  nearly  choked  with  thirst.  At  the  risk  of  being  overtaken,  I 
relinquished  my  hold  about  her  waist  and  slipped  down  the  bank, 
bringing  back  my  hat  filled  with  water.  Her  eyes  lighted  with 
thankfulness.  She  swallowed  some  and  poured  the  rest  over  her 
face.  I  made  to  go  for  more  but  she  took  my  arm  and  warned — 

"No  time." 

Encouraging  her  to  lean  on  me,  I  began  the  retreat.  The  path 
was  narrow  and  encroached  upon  by  the  bushes.  Two  could 
not  walk  it  abreast  without  betraying  themselves.  I  gave  her 
my  gun  and,  picking  her  up,  ran  for  it.  Concealment  was  im 
possible,  as  our  feet  had  left  tracks  any  Sioux  would  read  at  a 
glance,  and  more  than  once  we  had  advertised  ourselves  by 
rustling  the  bushes.  Either  the  enemy  was  not  within  hearing 
or  else  he  was  already  pressing  after  us.  She  murmured  a  pro- 
test  at  my  reckless  pace  and,  as  I  set  her  on  her  feet  to  get  my 
second  wind,  I  briefly  explained  that  it  made  no  difference. 

"Then  let  me  walk,"  she  said. 

"Faster  my  way,"  I  said,  taking  her  up  in  my  arms. 

This  time  I  did  not  stop  until  back  within  sound  of  the  Red 
River's  voice.  Then  I  let  her  walk  behind  me  while  I  advanced 
to  the  bank  and  hunted  for  my  canoe.  We  had  come  out  almost 
upon  it. 

I  jumped  down  the  bank  and,  turning,  caught  her  as  she  came 
after  me. 

"The  Indian  ?  He  was  very  brave — led  them  away — but  not 
all  of  them,"  she  gasped. 

The  bank  reached  above  my  head.  Stepping  on  a  rock,  I 
secured  a  view  of  our  back  trail  for  a  short  distance. 


no  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

A  lithe  figure,  bounding  along  with  the  elasticity  and  silence 
of  a  loup-cervier,  suddenly  popped  into  the  foreground.  He  was 
the  first  of  her  trailers.  The  upper  half  of  his  face  was  painted 
red  and  looked  like  a  mask  of  blood  through  which  the  small 
black  eyes  glittered  ferociously.  Shoving  my  gun  through  the 
dead  grass,  I  gave  him  the  right  barrel  and  he  went  down  with 
no  time  to  sound  his  death  howl. 

Shoving  off  the  canoe,  I  lifted  her  into  it  and  gave  her 
the  paddle,  directing — 

"Downstream  while  I  reload!" 

"The  Indian?" 

"He  must  take  care  of  himself — downstream !" 

"No,  across!" 

She  pointed  to  several  Sioux  now  breaking  cover  on  the  bank 
below  us.  As  I  beheld  them,  they  gained  the  river's  edge  and 
stood  ready  to  swim  out  should  we  attempt  to  descend. 

"Across  it  must  be!"  I  agreed,  kneeling  in  the  stern  and 
reloading. 

The  Indians  below  us  began  shooting  arrows,  which  flew 
wild,  as  the  wind  was  strong  from  the  south. 

I  held  my  fire  until  one  of  the  Sioux  waded  waist-deep  into 
the  river  and  prepared  to  aim  a  gun.  The  weapon  was  a 
London  Fusil,  a  number  of  which  had  trickled  into  the  Sioux 
country  through  the  hands  of  traders,  and  I  have  seen  a  savage 
do  very  efficient  work  with  one.  I  gave  him  a  barrel  and  he 
went  under,  taking  his  gun  with  him.  The  others  scrambled 
for  cover. 

The  girl  now  sounded  the  bell-like  call  which  the  Chippewas 
believed  she  had  stolen  from  the  Qu'Apelle  and  had  given 
back.  As  the  last  note  died  away,  the  Chippewa  scalp-yell  rang 
out  from  the  bank  above  us  and  a  slim  figure  burst  from  the 
timber,  taking  to  the  river  in  a  head-dive. 

"The  Pillager!"  I  yelled. 

A  volley  of  arrows  hissed  from  the  woods  behind  us,  and  one 
ripped  a  hole  in  the  stern,  through  which  the  river  began  to 
gurgle  most  menacingly.  More  warriors  had  arrived  and  sev 
eral  were  holding  knives  between  their  teeth,  intending  to  swim 


THE  RIVER  SETS  A  TRAP  m 

after  us.  The  group  below  also  reappeared.  The  pursuit  was 
to  be  pressed  in  force. 

I  could  easily  have  bagged  two  of  them,  but  I  must  keep  one 
shot  in  reserve.  I  contented  myself  with  catching  the  first  man 
to  slide  down  the  bank.  At  the  same  moment  a  dark  hand 
came  out  of  the  water  and  gripped  the  canoe.  I  raised  the  gun 
to  smash  the  fingers,  but  the  girl  poked  me  with  the  paddle, 
crying — 

"The  Chippewa!" 

Sure  enough,  it  was  Flat  Mouth.  He  grinned  up  into  my 
face  sardonically  and  endeavoured  to  give  his  yell  of  triumph, 
but  a  mouthful  of  water  stopped  him. 

"We're  sinking!"  I  told  him. 

He  struck  off  for  the  opposite  bank,  swimming  abreast  of  us 
and  watching  our  progress  with  much  concern. 

I  crowded  my  knee  against  the  hole  and  reloaded.  My  last 
shot  had  driven  the  Sioux  to  cover,  but  now  they  were  popping 
up  all  along  the  bank.  Below  and  above  us  several  had  taken 
to  the  water,  thinking  to  head  us  off  while  our  attention  was 
held  by  the  fire  of  those  directly  behind  us. 

Flat  Mouth  threw  himself  half  out  of  the  water  and  raised 
his  fiendish  howl  of  triumph.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  fact 
that  he  had  made  his  kill,  for  a  ghastly  bunch  of  fresh  hair  was 
caught  through  the  rawhide  lacing  of  his  skin  shirt. 

Arrows  and  an  occasional  ball  followed  us.  Above  and  below 
bobbed  the  heads  of  the  swimmers.  Our  approach  to  the  west 
bank  was  very  slow  and  the  canoe  grew  sluggish.  I  tried  to 
bail  with  my  hat  but  nearly  lost  my  gun  overboard.  The  craft 
settled  slowly  but  steadily.  I  glanced  forward  and  decided  we 
could  ground  her  nose  before  she  filled. 

Flat  Mouth  gave  a  bark  of  warning  and  dived.  The  situa 
tion  above,  below  and  behind  us  remained  about  the  same.  I 
turned  toward  the  west  bank  and  the  girl  gave  a  little  muffled 
cry,  yet  held  steadily  on.  Ten  or  a  dozen  of  the  enemy  were 
crouching  in  the  grass  at  the  top  of  the  bank  ready  to  receive  us. 
These  were  the  Indians  left  to  guard  the  horses. 


112  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  you've  done  for  me,"  the  girl 
called  over  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  thank  me  until  I've  pulled  you  out  of  this,"  I  growled, 
raising  my  gun. 

"You  said  back  there  you  came  after  me.  Did  you,  or  was 
it  just  chance?" 

"I  came  after  you,  to  help  you,"  I  replied,  staring  at  the  top 
of  the  bank. 

"Your  sense  of  duty — I'm  sorry,"  she  sighed. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  in  any  danger  when  I  started.  I 
came  because  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  looks  bad  for  us.  I'll  be 
honest  with  you — with  myself." 

There's  never  any  understanding  a  woman ;  which  is  not  sur 
prising,  as  she  does  not  understand  herself.  Logically  she 
should  have  been  twice  as  sorry  on  learning  I  had  followed  her 
without  suspecting  I  was  running  into  danger.  Instead  she 
quietly  called  over  her  shoulder — 

"Now  I'm  glad.    Don't  let  them  take  me  alive." 

"Of  course  not."  That  was  why  I  had  taken  pains  to  reserve 
one  barrel  of  my  gun. 

The  canoe  now  was  very  low  in  the  water.  She  paddled 
gently  and  we  crept  closer  to  the  bank.  Then,  with  a  muscular 
swing,  she  sent  us  into  the  mud  with  the  water  up  to  our  waists. 
The  Indians  on  the  bank  jumped  from  cover.  I  blew  a  hole 
through  the  leader.  Flat  Mouth  came  out  of  the  water  as  if 
shot  by  a  gun,  was  half-way  up  the  bank,  had  cut  a  fellow's 
throat  and  was  yanking  off  the  squirming  skunk's  hair  quicker 
than  you  could  skin  a  partridge. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BESIEGED 

THE  sudden  appearance  of  Flat  Mouth  from  the  river 
and  his  fierce  charge  up  the  bank,  perhaps,  had  as  much 
to  do  with  the  Indians*  failure  to  press  the  attack  as  did 
my  gun.  Their  hesitation  gave  us  an  inch  of  room  and,  while  I 
reloaded,  the  Pillager  snatched  up  a  dead  warrior's  bow  and 
two  quivers  of  arrows  and,  sheltered  by  the  bank,  began  firing 
rapidly.  The  Indians  scattered  and  ran  to  escape  his  shafts. 
While  this  was  happening  Miss  Dearness  secured  the  pack  of 
white  robes  from  the  submerged  canoe  and  threw  me  two  and 
two  to  the  chief  and  draped  the  fifth  over  her  arm  to  serve  as 
a  shield. 

The  Sioux  ahead  of  us  had  lost  two  of  their  number,  and 
while  they  could  have  smothered  us  in  a  rush,  had  they  remained 
instead  of  fleeing,  they  knew  the  victory  would  cost  them  dear. 
Ducking  and  dodging,  they  picked  up  their  discarded  shields  of 
bull-hide.  This  retreat  on  the  part  of  the  enemy  was  to  be 
commended  from  their  point  of  view,  as  the  Indians  crossing  the 
river  would  soon  be  landing  above  and  below  us.  Then  we 
would  be  hemmed  in  and  they  could  kill  us  at  their  leisure. 

With  the  canoe  out  of  commission  and  the  water  road  closed, 
there  remained  but  one  course — to  attack  at  the  weakest  point. 
In  other  words,  go  ahead.  The  fewest  warriors  opposed  us  and 
with  them  were  the  horses  of  the  entire  war  party. 

"We  must  have  horses!"  I  cried  to  Flat  Mouth  in  Chip- 
pewa. 

"Good  cover  here,"  grunted  the  Pillager,  motioning  for  me 
to  climb  up  the  bank  and  survey  the  plain. 

I  joined  him  and  saw  that  the  growth  on  the  river  several 

"3 


ii4  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

hundred  yards  below  us  extended  some  distance  into  the  plain. 

I  called  to  the  girl  to  follow.  Four  savages  were  cautiously 
approaching  the  bank,  depending  on  their  shields,  while  their 
mates  ran  to  procure  some  of  the  horses.  Flat  Mouth  snatched 
up  the  white  hides  and  held  them  before  him  with  his  left  hand 
and  ran  toward  the  enemy.  They  began  to  fall  back,  shooting 
their  arrows  wildly.  I  gave  Miss  Dearness  a  hand,  took  my 
robes  and  fell  in  behind  her  to  guard  the  rear.  I  had  nothing 
but  admiration  for  her  coolness  as  we  made  for  the  woods,  for 
she  bothered  to  pick  up  the  arrows  the  Sioux  were  wasting. 

Once  she  turned  to  me  and  held  up  a  knife  she  had  picked 
up  beside  the  two  dead  devils  down  the  bank,  and  cried  out — 

"Use  both  barrels  if  you  have  to."  Meaning  that  if  the  worst 
came  she  would  kill  herself  to  escape  capture. 

The  four  Sioux  refused  to  dispute  Flat  Mouth's  advance  and 
began  falling  back.  Either  the  white  robes  worried  them,  being 
big  medicine,  or  else  they  believed  they  had  the  game  in  their 
own  hands  and  could  afford  to  wait.  Suddenly  they  turned  and 
ran  zigzag  toward  the  horses.  This  behaviour  puzzled  me.  I 
glanced  behind  me,  but  as  yet  none  of  the  Indians  had  mounted 
the  bank.  We  were  advancing  obliquely  toward  the  woods. 

Now  Flat  Mouth  called  on  us  to  hurry  and  turned  to  make 
cover  along  the  shortest  line.  Miss  Dearness  ceased  hunting 
arrows  and  ran  like  a  deer.  I  pounded  along  at  her  heels,  with 
no  immediate  danger  visible  and  yet  realizing  that  a  crisis  must 
be  at  hand,  else  the  Pillager  would  not  flee  so  precipitately. 

He  slowed  up  so  that  the  girl  and  I  caught  up  with  him. 

"Big  medicine !"  he  exulted. 

"The  robes?"  I  panted. 

"They  sent  the  Sioux  running  away  like  old  women !"  And 
although  we  needed  to  conserve  our  breath  he  halted  and  in 
dulged  in  a  long-drawn-out  howl  of  triumph. 

There  was  no  doubt  now  in  my  mind  as  to  the  effect  of  the 
robes.  While  an  albino  buffalo  counted  only  as  a  hide  among 
the  Indians  in  the  Red  River  department,  the  skins  were  ob 
jects  of  reverence  among  the  tribes  on  the  Missouri.  The  pos 
sessor  of  one  was  most  fortunate.  He  was  destined  to  be  sue- 


BESIEGED  115 

cessful  in  the  hunt,  on  the  war-path,  and  in  his  accumulation 
of  wives.  He  would  part  with  his  dearest  belongings  to  secure 
such  a  robe. 

Their  value  was  so  high  that  often  the  price  was  beyond 
any  individual.  When  one  was  infrequently  put  on  sale  the 
village  would  undertake  to  purchase  it.  The  robe  was  then 
cut  into  strips,  and  each  contributor  to  the  fund  received  a  por 
tion.  Even  a  narrow  width  of  the  hide  would  guarantee  good 
luck  to  a  lodge. 

Believing  all  this,  it  was  natural  they  should  view  our  five 
hides  as  a  stupendous  display  of  mighty  medicine,  worth  any 
price  to  possess,  yet  to  be  sought  for  very  cautiously.  There 
was  nothing  partisan  about  a  hide's  medicine.  It  would  benefit 
and  protect  us  so  long  as  we  could  hold  it,  but  its  benevolence 
would  instantly  be  transferred  to  a  new  owner. 

"They  come  from  the  river!"  bawled  Flat  Mouth  as  we 
struck  into  the  edge  of  the  timber  and  turned  to  look  back. 

The  warriors  from  the  eastern  shore  were  popping  their  heads 
above  the  bank.  None  had  crossed  directly  behind  us,  out  of 
respect  for  my  gun.  By  going  up  or  down  stream  they  had 
lost  time.  The  Sioux  on  the  plain  were  now  mounted  and  busy 
rounding  up  the  rest  of  the  animals.  But  the  horses  were  re 
luctant  to  cease  feeding  and  viciously  rebelled.  Two  managed 
to  break  their  hobbles  and  run  clear  of  the  herd.  Flat  Mouth 
watched  the  runaways  through  half-closed  eyes.  I  gave  my 
attention  to  the  Indians. 

Our  situation  was  desperate.  The  strong  timber  we  had  en 
tered  followed  a  rivulet  only  for  a  short  distance.  It  was  only 
a  thin  grove  on  each  side  of  the  tiny  stream,  and  to  the  north  of 
it  was  the  open  plain  again.  It  was  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
the  plain  except  in  the  east,  where  the  river  flowed.  Could  we 
have  had  a  brief  respite  we  might  have  raised  the  canoe,  patched 
it  up  and  trusted  to  luck.  While  I  was  regretting  our  inabil 
ity  to  do  this,  two  of  the  Sioux  scrambled  over  the  bank,  danc 
ing  and  hooting  and  waving  pieces  torn  from  the  damaged  craft. 

"That  closes  the  river  to  us,"  Miss  Dearness  calmly  observed. 

I  cut  a  slit  in  one  of  the  robes  and  dropped  it  over  her  head 


u6  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

so  it  formed  a  long  apron  in  front  and  behind.  She  thanked 
me  with  a  smile.  She  knew  she  would  not  be  taken  alive  and 
this  knowledge  gave  her  strength. 

I  put  on  a  robe,  only  I  allowed  it  to  hang  on  both  sides. 
While  this  left  my  back  and  breast  exposed,  it  gave  me  free  play 
with  the  gun,  and  in  case  of  arrow-fire  I  could  turn  sideways. 
Against  a  ball  the  robe  would  offer  but  small  protection.  Flat 
Mouth  grunted  in  approval  as  he  watched  me  prepare  myself. 
Taking  two  of  the  robes,  he  slit  them  in  the  middle  and  put 
them  on  as  I  had  done,  making  his  armour  doubly  thick.  The 
calfskin  he  hung  down  his  back. 

"Dig  holes,"  he  said,  walking  to  the  edge  of  the  timber. 

"What  is  it  now,  Eshkebugecoshe  ?"  I  called  after  him,  fear 
ing  he  planned  a  fanatical  display  of  bravery  by  charging  the 
Sioux  single-handed. 

"We  must  have  horses.  It  is  the  only  way,"  he  answered 
without  looking  back.  Standing  in  the  open,  he  paused  to  study 
the  enemy.*  Again  he  cried  out : 

"Dig!  Dig!  I  will  watch." 

I  found  a  hole  where  an  uprooted  oak  had  torn  the  soil. 
Jumping  into  this,  I  began  excavating  with  my  knife.  The  girl 
joined  me  with  her  borrowed  blade.  We  worked  side  by  side, 
her  red  hair  falling  over  her  face  and  at  times  brushing  against 
mine.  I  threw  out  the  dirt  with  my  hands  and  placed  it  as  a 
breastwork,  the  butt  of  the  tree  with  its  long  roots  forming  a 
good  half  of  the  defence. 

Digging  was  slow  work,  however,  and  we  soon  shifted  to 
dragging  fallen  timbers  and  building  a  barricade.  Leaving  her 
to  finish  the  little  fort  with  a  mask  of  willow  branches,  I 
searched  until  I  found  a  spot  near-by  where  several  mouldering 
trunks  lay  crisscrossed.  This  I  fashioned  into  a  refuge  for  the 
Pillager.  Having  accomplished  this  while  the  chief  stood  guard, 
I  crept  forward  and  announced — 

"We  have  dug  the  holes." 

He  did  not  appear  to  have  heard  me  but  continued  staring 
at  the  Sioux.  Those  from  the  river  were  warily  advancing. 
Only  one  of  them  that  I  could  see  carried  a  gun.  I  took  care- 


BESIEGED  117 

ful  aim  and  fired.  It  was  a  long  shot  and  I  missed,  but  the  ball 
must  have  passed  close  to  his  painted  head,  for  he  ducked  wildly 
and  threw  himself  down,  the  whole  line  following  his  example. 
I  let  them  have  the  second  barrel  on  top  of  the  first,  believing  I 
had  ample  time  to  reload.  This  double  discharge  from  one 
gun  was  acknowledged  with  yelps  of  alarm. 

They  remained  in  the  grass,  their  brown  bodies  scarcely  to 
be  distinguished  from  the  brown  earth.  The  effect  of  the  two 
shots  on  the  other  group  was  equally  pronounced.  Abandoning 
the  herd,  they  galloped  to  the  river  and  took  up  a  position  be 
hind  those  afoot.  I  reloaded  and,  aiming  high,  fired  twice  at 
the  horsemen  and  wounded  one  of  their  animals. 

Flat  Mouth  considered  this  to  be  a  suitable  time  for  his  en 
deavour.  Loudly  singing  his  song  of  triumph,  he  stalked  from 
the  timber.  He  was  rather  imposing  in  his  white  robes.  Nor 
was  the  effect  lost  on  the  Sioux,  for  I  heard  low  cries  of  envy. 
They  shot  their  arrows  but  the  distance  was  too  great,  and  he 
remained  untouched.  To  rush  him  they  would  have  to  .enter 
the  zone  of  my  gun-fire  crossing  from  east  to  west  in  front  of 
me.  The  mounted  Sioux  now  realized  their  mistake,  and  gal 
loped  back,  making  a  deep  detour. 

I  began  to  believe  he  might  succeed  in  securing  at  least  one 
of  the  animals,  one  that  had  broken  its  hobbles  and  had  halted 
to  graze  on  the  short  grass.  Dropping  his  voice  to  a  monotone, 
the  Pillager  began  to  advance  toward  this  brute.  The  Sioux 
afoot  and  on  horseback  set  up  a  loud  howling,  to  frighten  the 
animal,  and  discharged  arrows  in  high  arcs  in  the  hope  one 
might  descend  on  the  horse  and  send  him  galloping  off.  But 
the  runaway  continued  feeding,  quite  used  to  his  master's  hulla 
baloo.  When  Flat  Mouth  was  within  ten  or  a  dozen  feet  and 
moving  slowly,  the  brute  raised  its  head  and  glared  viciously. 
The  Pillager  made  to  pass  him,  still  chanting. 

"He'll  get  that  one !"  Miss  Dearness  exclaimed. 

For  the  moment  I  had  forgotten  her,  so  intent  was  I  on 
watching  the  chief.  One  horse  might  mean  freedom  for  her. 

A  warrior  leaped  up  from  the  ground  and  yelled  to  the 
horsemen.  They  began  a  turning  movement  and  started  a  shrill 


ii8  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Hi-yi-yi!"  to  alarm  the  animal,  at  the  same  time  recklessly 
charging  the  Pillager.  I  could  have  easily  brought  down  one 
if  not  two  of  their  ponies,  but  held  my  fire  for  fear  of  startling 
Flat  Mouth's  prize.  The  chief  needed  to  exercise  much  pa 
tience.  The  enemy  were  coming  toward  him  at  a  smashing 
gallop.  The  grazing  pony  was  suspicious  and  kept  turning  so  as 
to  watch  him.  If  not  encumbered  by  the  robes,  he  could  have 
covered  the  distance  in  one  spring  and  caught  the  beast  by  the 
nose.  As  it  was,  he  manoeuvred  as  coolly  and  deliberately  as 
if  he  were  alone  on  the  plain. 

"To  the  left!"  softly  cried  the  girl,  tugging  my  arm. 

I  pivoted  and  beheld  the  warriors  leaving  the  grass  to  run 
forward.  The  menace  of  the  double-barrel  was  sufficient  to 
send  them  to  earth  again. 

"Good !"  cried  the  girl.    "I'll  watch  them." 

Back  went  my  gaze  to  the  Pillager.  The  Sioux  horsemen 
were  perilously  near,  and  I  prepared  to  shoot.  He  was  close  to 
the  pony,  which  snorted  and  jumped  back  a  few  feet,  then 
ducked  its  head  to  snatch  a  mouthful  of  the  poor  feed.  In  the 
next  second  the  Pillager  had  him  by  the  muzzle,  was  on  his  back 
and  darting  like  a  white  streak  for  the  herd,  the  flapping  of 
the  robes  giving  him  the  appearance  of  some  gigantic  bird. 

The  advancing  horsemen,  as  if  afraid  of  the  sacred  robes, 
swerved  deeper  into  the  plain,  then  conquered  their  reluctance 
and  bore  down  on  him.  I  took  two  quick  shots,  one  a  clear 
miss,  the  other  wounding  a  warrior.  His  fellows  instantly 
reined  in. 

"On  the  left!"  cried  the  girl. 

I  wheeled  and  bumped  into  her,  because  she  was  standing 
so  close  and  she  had  interposed  her  body  between  me  and  the 
men  in  the  grass.  I  threw  my  arm  about  her  and  swung  her 
behind  me  as  a  volley  of  arrows  struck  the  ground  around  us, 
several  rattling  harmlessly  against  my  robe.  I  raised  my  empty 
gun  and  the  line  of  kneeling  men  flattened  out,  none  daring  to 
learn  if  I  could  fire  more  than  two  shots  without  reloading. 
They  must  have  approached  in  a  most  subtle  manner,  or  the 


BESIEGED  119 

girl  would  have  warned  me.  At  the  least  they  had  managed  to 
get  within  long  arrow  range. 

"Now  you  can  stand  between  them  and  me,"  I  told  her. 

Behind  cover  of  her  white  robe  I  hastily  reloaded  without 
them  seeing  me;  then  I  again  placed  her  behind  me.  One  of 
the  scoundrels  was  lying  on  his  back  and  sending  arrows  in  a 
high  curve. 

Leaving  her  to  watch  them,  I  turned  my  attention  to  Flat 
Mouth.  He  was  guiding  his  animal  with  his  knees  and  sending 
arrow  after  arrow  at  the  horsemen  as  he  rode.  Now  he  was  up 
at  the  edge  of  the  herd  and  the  horsemen  were  manoeuvring  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  wide  circle  and  wheeling  into  position 
to  charge. 

I  fired  one  barrel  and  hit  a  nag,  sending  the  rider  flying  to 
the  ground.  This  halted  their  advance  long  enough  for  the 
Pillager  to  gather  up  two  halters,  lean  low  and  cut  the  hobbles. 
When  he  turned  to  retreat  the  brutes  balked  and  dragged  back. 
The  horsemen  started  to  interfere,  yelping  fiendishly.  I  fired 
my  second  barrel  and,  although  I  could  not  see  that  I  scored, 
my  shot  stopped  them.  Now  the  Pillager  was  coming  at  a  hard 
gallop  and  I  swept  the  Indians  in  the  grass  with  my  empty 
gun.  To  my  great  relief  they  did  not  rise,  although  they  contin 
ued  shooting  their  arrows  until  the  chief  had  smashed  into  the 
undergrowth. 

"For  the  Medicine  Hair,"  he  proudly  announced  as  he  leaped 
to  the  ground  and  made  two  of  the  ponies  fast  to  an  oak  branch. 

"I'll  let  you  ride  one  of  them,  Mr.  Franklin,"  she  encouraged 
with  a  sad  little  play  at  cheerfulness. 

"I  will  go  back  and  get  all  of  them,"  cried  Flat  Mouth, 
fighting  his  vicious  beast  to  a  standstill  against  a  tree  before  he 
could  mount  him. 

"No !"  I  cried,  pointing  to  the  line  of  Sioux,  who  had  quit  the 
grass  during  our  minute  of  forgetfulness  and  were  now  racing 
toward  the  herd. 

They  were  bent  half  double  and  grotesquely  leaped  from 
side  to  side  as  they  ran  to  escape  my  lead. 


120  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"They  will  try  to  ride  us  down  in  force,"  muttered  Miss 
Dearness. 

I  believed  this  to  be  their  plan  and  urged  her  to  fall  back  to 
our  fort.  She  insisted  on  remaining  with  me  until  the  attack 
was  under  way.  The  path  to  the  river  was  open  but  we  had 
no  canoe.  We  could  pass  through  the  timber  and  race  north 
and,  at  night,  I  would  have  asked  for  no  better  chance.  Flat 
Mouth  secured  his  pony  and  began  gathering  arrows  from  the 
grass.  I  could  account  for  two  with  my  gun  and  the  Pillager 
was  sure  to  score  as  good  a  tally,  yet  we  must  go  under  if  they 
pressed  the  charge  home. 

I  called  for  the  Pillager  to  return  to  the  timber  and  asked 
him  which  it  should  be — a  break  through  the  woods  and  a  gal 
lop  north,  or  a  last  fight  where  we  were. 

"Stay  till  night,"  he  promptly  decided.  "They  can  not  dig  us 
out.  In  the  dark  we  will  ride  home." 

"Can't  they  ride  in  here  and  get  us?"  she  asked  him. 

"They  could  if  they  would  pay  enough,"  he  admitted.  "But 
they  want  scalps  without  losing  any  men.  They  have  lost 
heavily  on  this  war-path  and  they  lost  heavily  when  they 
brought  the  pipe  the  time  before.  If  they  ride  at  us  they  will 
not  come  too  near.  At  night  they  will  creep  in.  We  shall  not 
be  here." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SIOUX   RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS 

THIS  encouraged  us  tremendously.  Miss  Dearness  stuck 
more  willow  branches  around  our  two  forts,  while  I  re 
mained  with  the  chief,  who  was  curiously  watching  the 
Indians  on  the  plains.  All  of  the  Sioux  were  now  mounted,  the 
horses  the  Pillager  had  captured  being  replaced  by  those  whose 
owners  had  fallen.  For  some  minutes  the  band  milled  about; 
then  one  man  rode  aside  and  began  haranguing  in  a  loud  voice. 
The  Pillager,  who  had  travelled  and  lived  on  the  Missouri, 
readily  interpreted  the  speech,  which  consisted  of  exhortations 
for  the  Sioux  to  remember  they  were  brave  men,  that  our 
scalps  must  go  back  to  their  village  to  wipe  out  their  disgrace  in 
having  lost  warriors.  The  white  woman  was  to  be  taken  alive. 
I  was  glad  Miss  Dearness  was  busy  with  her  willow  wands, 
for  the  Pillager  interpreted  word  for  word,  and  she  understood 
the  Chippewa  tongue  almost  as  well  as  she  did  English. 

When  the  speechmaker  desisted  the  Sioux  swung  into  a  long 
line,  a  manoeuver  beautifully  executed.  In  this  formation  they 
came  towards  us  at  a  walk,  tossing  up  their  lances,  waving  their 
axes  and  singing  lustily.  I  made  ready  with  my  gun,  picking 
the  leader  and  a  man  on  the  left  end  as  my  two  victims,  but 
Flat  Mouth  folded  his  arms  and  did  not  even  see  to  it  that  his 
bow  was  taut. 

"Make  ready!"  I  nervously  advised. 

He  grunted  in  disgust.  All  but  half  a  dozen  of  the  horse 
men  began  to  pivot  on  the  left  end  of  their  line  and,  almost 
before  I  could  understand  what  they  were  up  to,  this  huge 
segment  was  galloping  madly  along,  parallel  to  the  woods  and 
away  from  us. 

121 


122  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"When  night  comes  we  shall  ride  very  swift  or  very  soft," 
mumbled  Flat  Mouth,  resuming  the  task  of  gathering  arrows. 

In  short,  the  Sioux  were  perfectly  willing  we  should  break 
from  cover  and  ride  south,  and  left  the  six  men  to  keep  watch 
on  us.  But  if  we  attempted  to  ride  north  we  must  pass  through 
the  bulk  of  their  band. 

Miss  Dearness  came  up  to  us,  and  I  told  her  how  the  Sioux 
had  thrown  most  of  their  men  to  the  other  side  of  the  grove. 
She  promptly  said : 

"It  doesn't  make  sense.  If  they  didn't  dare  attack  when 
all  together  what  good  will  it  do  them  to  divide  their  forces?" 

"They  will  wait  until  dusk  and  creep  in  from  both  sides " 

1     "And  be  shooting  into  each  other,"  she  shot  in. 

"Or  stay  out  on  the  plain  and  wait  for  us  to  try  and  break 
through,"  I  concluded. 

"But  if  they  don't  dare  attack  in  force  they  must  know  we 
can  stay  here  as  long  as  they  can  stay  out  there.  We  can  creep 
to  the  river  and  fish.  We  can  make  some  kind  of  a  raft  and 
cross,  or  float  downstream.  We  can  stay  right  here  and  eat 
our  horses.  The  rivulet  furnishes  water.  And  there  is  a 
chance  that  some  of  our  Chippewas  may  come  up  the  river 
and  give  them  battle.  There's  more  to  it  than  a  waiting  cam 
paign.  They're  anxious  to  cage  us  up  here  until  what  ?  What 
ever  it  is  the  time  will  be  short." 

She  spoke  in  English  and  I  translated  it  to  the  Pillager.    His 
small  eyes  sparkled  appreciatively  and  he  declared: 
•     "Medicine  Hair  sees  beyond  the  woods  and  hill.     She  can 
call  and  send  away  a  voice.     She  can  send  her  eyes  far  up  the 
river  and  over  the  plain.    Look!    Tell  me  what  that  means!" 

He  was  pointing  to  the  south  and  at  first  I  could  make  out 
nothing.  Then  I  spied  it,  a  thin  stream  of  blue  smoke.  The 
girl  promptly  said  in  Chippewa: 

"The  Sioux  know  help  is  coming.  They  will  not  attack  until 
their  friends  come.  That  will  be  some  time  before  morning. 
Soon  the  others  will  send  up  a  smoke." 

The  meaning  of  the  smoke  was  very  obvious.  Not  a  half- 
breed  hunter,  not  a  man  at  any  post  in  our  department  who 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      123 

could  not  have  read  ft.  Even  Probos  would  have  understood. 
Yet  the  Pillager,  a  master  at  such  things,  heard  her  as  if  she 
had  been  an  oracle. 

"Can  the  Medicine  Hair's  eyes,  when  she  calls  them  back, 
tell  how  many  Sioux  there  are  at  the  bottom  of  that  smoke?" 
he  humbly  asked. 

"As  many  as  were  here  before  you  killed  any,"  she  calmly 
replied.  Then  in  English  to  me :  "It's  reasonable  to  believe  they 
belong  to  the  same  party  and  split  up  in  two  equal  bands.  So 
long  as  he  believes  in  my  manito,  so  much  the  braver  will  he 
be." 

The  chief  began  talking  to  himself  in  a  guttural  and  almost 
audible  voice  and  fell  to  fingering  his  bow  nervously.  His 
emotion  was  occasioned  by  the  sight  of  the  six  warriors  out  in 
front.  They  were  beyond  arrow  range,  and  only  by  luck  could 
a  ball  score  any  damage. 

They  began  running  back  and  forth,  and  we  saw  they  were 
heaping  up  dry  grass.  They  paid  no  attention  to  us,  being  intent 
solely  on  answering  the  signal. 

With  a  leap  the  Pillager  wras  on  his  horse  and  riding  towards 
them,  his  bow  held  with  arrow  notched.  He  was  not  singing 
now,  and  as  if  in  a  trance  the  girl  and  I  watched  his  progress. 
As  the  drama  of  the  situation  got  into  our  heads  we  instinc 
tively  clasped  hands.  Back  and  forth  scuttled  the  Sioux.  For 
ward  rode  the  Pillager.  Then  one  of  them  chanced  to  discover 
him  and,  with  a  shout  of  fear,  turned  and  made  for  his  pony. 
I  saw  him  go  down  with  a  Sioux  arrow  buried  to  the  feathers 
in  his  back. 

With  screams  of  rage  the  others  snatched  up  their  weapons, 
opened  fire  and  then  mounted  their  horses.  With  a  whoop  the 
Pillager  charged  at  them,  and  they  separated  in  haste  to  let  him 
pass  through,  but,  when  a  bit  beyond  the  fallen  warrior,  he 
brought  his  pony  round  on  two  hoofs  and  was  making  for 
the  timber,  swinging  very  low  from  the  saddle  as  he  rode.  For 
a  moment  the  speed  of  his  mount  was  checked,  then  picked  up  a 
rattling  pace,  and  the  chief  was  sitting  erect,  waved  something 
round  his  head  and  sounded  his  terrible  scalp-cry. 


124  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"By  heavens!  But  that  was  a  coup  worth  counting!"  I 
fiercely  exclaimed. 

With  a  little  shudder  the  girl  reminded: 

"They  could  have  come  through  the  woods  while  we  stood 
here.  We've  been  very  careless  and " 

She  ceased  abruptly  and  stared  down  at  our  clasped  hands. 

I  was  as  much  surprised  as  she.  Certainly  I  was  no  more 
conscious  than  she  of  having  taken  her  hand.  It  was  three 
years  since  I  had  taken  a  white  woman's  hand.  In  no  way 
was  the  experience  displeasing. 

"He  may  need  help,"  she  said,  releasing  her  hand  and  looking 
toward  the  Pillager. 

I  leaped  out  in  front  with  my  gun,  and  the  warriors  behind 
the  Chippewa  vanished  over  the  sides  of  their  ponies  and  swung 
off  to  the  west.  On  rushed  Flat  Mouth,  still  singing  and  shout 
ing.  But  the  climax  of  his  arrival  was  weakened  by  a  puff  of 
smoke  from  a  mound  of  grass.  The  signal  fire  was  burning, 
and  the  Indians  were  heaping  wet  grass  and  green  branches 
upon  it. 

Leaving  the  two  to  watch  the  smoke,  I  hastened  to  the  north 
side  of  the  grove.  Had  the  enemy  but  known  it  he  could  have 
massacred  the  girl  and  me  easily,  as  we  watched  the  Pillager's 
sensational  exploit.  When  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  growth  I 
noted  the  Sioux  had  heard  the  Chippewa's  scalp-yell  and  were 
very  uneasy.  They  were  riding  back  and  forth,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  timber,  while  one  of  their  number  was  galloping 
madly  toward  the  tip  of  the  grove  to  learn  what  had  happened. 
After  watching  them  for  a  minute  and  failing  to  detect  any 
sign  of  an  advance  on  our  position,  I  returned  to  my  compan 
ions  and  related  what  I  had  observed. 

"The  name  of  Eshkebugecoshe  fills  the  Sioux  hearts  with 
fear.  It  makes  them  old  women,"  loudly  boasted  the  chief. 

"It  was  a  big  coup,"  I  declared.  "You  may  paint  the  marks 
of  death  and  the  feet  of  horses  on  your  body  and  on  your  tent 
to  show  you  killed  a  man  while  riding  hard." 

The  chief  toned  down  his  vanity  on  meeting  the  girl's  clear 
gaze  and  confessed : 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      125 

"Eshkebugecoshe  is  a  mighty  warrior,  but  the  white  woman's 
medicine  helped  him.  It  made  the  Sioux  blind  till  I  could 
creep  very  close." 

"Couldn't  we  get  across  the  river?  I  can  swim,"  eagerly 
spoke  up  Miss  Dearness. 

Flat  Mouth  said  it  would  be  foolish  to  cross  before  dark,  but 
he  suggested  that  I  reconnoitre  the  river  while  he  watched  the 
Indians.  He  did  not  seem  to  think  much  of  the  suggestion, 
but  as  it  came  from  the  girl  he  was  bound  to  consider  it,  prob 
ably  believing  her  medicine  suggested  the  plan.  I  thought  very 
favourably  of  the  idea.  The  Indians'  belief  that  we  planned  to 
use  the  ponies  in  attempting  to  escape  would  tend  to  blunt  their 
watch  of  the  river.  I  followed  the  rivulet  until  I  came  to  its 
mouth,  a  bit  of  a  beach  grown  round  with  reeds  and  tall  grass. 
The  river  rolled  brown  and  silent  except  for  the  murmuring 
of  air  currents.  Midstream  a  huge  tree  floated  with  roots  up 
raised,  like  arms  held  up  in  surrender — desolation  and  solitude. 
As  I  watched  the  water  I  decided  a  man  could  well  risk  the 
danger.  A  long  swim  under  water,  timed  to  take  advantage 
of  some  of  the  driftwood  ever  passing,  and  the  trick  could  be 
turned.  But  the  water  was  icy  cold  and  the  danger  was  not  for 
a  woman  to  run  unless  absolutely  necessary. 

Yet  at  night,  with  the  aid  of  a  log,  Miss  Dearness  could  be 
ferried  across.  I  began  to  look  about  for  some  fallen  timber 
which  would  serve  as  a  raft.  It  was  while  occupied  in  this  task 
that  I  received  ample  proof  that  the  Sioux  had  not  forgotten  the 
river.  The  proof  was  an  arrow  which  whizzed  by  my  head  and 
disappeared  in  the  reeds.  I  drew  back  among  the  trees  and, 
cocking  my  gun,  searched  the  top  of  the  bank.  I  could  see  noth 
ing  suspicious,  yet  a  savage  could  remain  below  the  bank  with 
the  top  of  his  head  masked  by  the  fringe  of  dead  grass.  Thus 
concealed,  he  could  follow  my  every  movement  and  loose 
another  arrow  when  I  presented  a  fair  target. 

The  thought  made  me  uncomfortable,  and  I  retreated  deeper 
into  the  grove.  A  mocking  yell  told  me  that  my  flight  had  been 
witnessed,  and,  incensed,  I  turned  back,  determined  to  get  a 


126  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

shot  at  him.  The  rascal  was  too  cunning  in  his  hiding,  so, 
returning  to  my  companions,  I  reported  the  incident. 

Flat  Mouth  slipped  out  of  his  white  robes  and  without  a 
word  stole  to  the  river  to  match  his  woodcraft  against  the  sen 
tinel's.  As  he  had  reported  that  the  Sioux  on  the  north  side 
of  the  timber  were  quiet,  and  as  no  danger  could  take  the  girl 
unaware  from  the  south  side,  I  surrendered  to  my  desire  and 
followed  him. 

Armed  only  with  his  bow  and  arrow  he  slipped  through  the 
growth  with  the  softness  of  a  lynx,  following  my  trail  along  the 
rivulet.  Keeping  well  back,  I  watched  him.  He  was  studying 
my  tracks  rather  than  looking  about  for  the  enemy.  He  halted 
a  short  distance  from  where  I  had  stood  in  the  open  when  the 
arrow  missed  me,  then  glided  to  the  edge  of  the  reeds  and,  bend 
ing  low,  pulled  an  arrow  from  the  muck.  As  he  straightened  I 
saw  his  arm  twitch  and  a  red  blotch  appear  on  the  biceps.  Leap 
ing  to  one  side,  he  fitted  the  arrow  to  his  bow,  gave  a  keen, 
Sweeping  glance  overhead  and  discharged  the  arrow.  Almost 
with  the  twang  of  the  bow  there  came  the  shrill  death-cry  from 
the  sentinel  and  I  saw  a  dark  body  bump  along  the  trunk 
of  an  oak  and  lodge  against  one  of  its  branches. 

Gliding  back  to  me,  the  Pillager  announced : 

"Sometime  I  will  climb  up  and  get  his  hair.  The  arrow  in 
the  mud  showed  that  it  came  from  overhead  and  not  from  the 
bank." 

With  this  explanation  he  registered  the  kill  with  his  terrible 
war-cry. 

We  hastened  back  through  the  grove,  the  Pillager  swinging 
to  the  north  to  reconnoitre,  while  I  made  direct  for  Miss  Dear- 
ness.  She  had  heard  the  two  cries,  one  of  death  and  one  of 
victory,  and  stood  facing  the  river,  her  hands  twisted  together, 
her  face  white  and  drawn.  On  beholding  me  she  hastily  turned 
toward  the  plain  and  her  hands  fell  listlessly  to  her  side. 

The  column  of  smoke  had  replied  to  the  message  from  the 
south  and  was  now  dying  out.  She  informed  me  that  while  I 
had  been  gone  the  Indians  had  used  their  robes  to  confine  the 
smoke  and  then  released  it  in  puffs.  Had  the  Pillager  witnessed 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      127 

it  he  could  have  read  the  code.  However  it  was  not  difficult  to 
guess  the  message;  it  told  those  in  the  south  to  hasten  if  they 
would  be  in  at  a  triple  kill. 

Until  now  I  had  had  no  chance  to  exchange  more  than  a  few 
words  with  Miss  Dearness.  She  gestured  for  me  to  sit  beside 
her  on  the  robes,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  to  say: 

"You  should  have  started  back  east  the  minute  you  heard 
your  father  was  dead." 

"I  told  him  I  would  stay  till  someone  came  to  take  his  place." 

"But  it's  no  place  for  a  white  woman,"  I  protested.  "It's 
bad  enough  for  a  man  to  be  cast  away  among  these  savages." 

She  smiled  faintly  and  reminded — 

"The  only  danger  I've  faced — until  to-day — was  from  a  white 
man,  Black  Chabot." 

"I  wish  the  Robe  had  hit  him  with  his  arrows." 

"I  told  the  Robe  to  be  very  careful  and  not  hit  him,  the 
drunken  beast!" 

"If  we  could  only  get  word  to  my  Chippewas,"  I  sighed. 

"It  would  do  no  good  so  long  as  I  am  with  you,"  she  dis 
couraged.  Then  with  a  grim  little  laugh :  "I'm  bad  luck.  If 
you  were  alone  they  would  come ;  but  not  while  I'm  with  you. 
They  believe  I  stole  the  voice  from  the  Qu'  Appelle  or  that  my 
medicine  wasn't  strong  enough  to  keep.  If  I  hadn't  sent  the 
Voice  back  they  would  dare  anything  to  help  me." 

"Then  the  Crees  and  Assiniboins?" 

"They've  heard  the  Chippewas  tell  that  my  medicine  is  weak. 
Now  they  believe  I  would  have  kept  the  Voice  if  I  could.  They 
feel  no  gratitude.  It  would  be  as  dangerous  for  me  to  meet 
Cree  or  Assiniboin  away  from  the  post  as  it  has  been  to  meet 
the  Sioux." 

"Nonsense!"  I  scoffed.  "They're  afraid  of  you,  even  if 
they  don't  like  your  medicine." 

"They  hate  me  and  they  don't  fear  me.  When  I  went  on  the 
river  alone  at  night  and  sang  to  forget  my  loneliness  I  little 
knew  what  I  was  stirring  up.  I  went  to  get  away  from  the 
drinking  and  fighting.  I  sang,  as  I  was  always  singing  back  in 
the  east." 


128  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"But  the  Assiniboins  would  listen  to  me,"  I  proudly  insisted. 

"Mr.  Franklin,  you  don't  know  them.  You've  met  those  that 
come  to  your  post.  Their  territory  extends  far  to  the  west. 
They're  a  mighty  people.  You've  met  men  from  one  band  only. 
Meet  them  away  from  your  fort  and  your  rum  and  you  will 
find  they're  very  much  savages." 

A  horseman  suddenly  darted  toward  us,  his  bow  drawn,  seek 
ing  to  leam  if  we  were  keeping  vvatch.  I  covered  his  bobbing 
figure  as  best  I  could  and  held  my  fire  until  he  should  come 
within  decent  range.  Just  as  I  began  to  hope,  he  pulled  his 
pony  about  and  scuttled  back  to  his  mates. 

"Who  are  you  ?  Where  were  you  born  ?"  I  asked,  lowering 
my  gun. 

"English — England,"  she  murmured,  her  gaze  wandering  far 
beyond  the  wild  horizon. 

"And  I'm  an  American.  Flat  Mouth  thinks  your  hair  is 
medicine." 

With  a  little  frown  she  gathered  up  the  dishevelled  mass,  and, 
before  my  eyes,  performed  the  miracle  of  restoring  her  hair  to 
glossy  smoothness  by  the  simple  process  of  patting,  twisting,  and 
poking.  Stay  out  in  the  Northwest  for  three  seasons  and  you 
will  appreciate  how  keenly  this  simple  task  appeals  to  a  white 
man. 

She  faced  me  suddenly,  her  blue  eyes  prying  deep  into  mine, 
and  abruptly  asked — 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?" 

"Like  what?"  I  defended. 

"As  if  you  had  never  seen  a  woman  before." 

"I  haven't  seen  a  white  woman  for  three  seasons,"  I  sighed. 

"I  understand."  And  she  turned  to  resume  her  watch  of  the 
Indians. 

"A  white  woman  even  if  she  be  as  ignorant  and  unattractive 
as  a  scullery  maid  would  seem  a  goddess  to  you  now." 

"Scarcely  that,"  I  demurred.  "Three  years  out  here  is  a 
long  time,  but  not  an  eternity.  I  never  dream  of  scullery  maids. 
I—" 

Her  grave  reproachful  gaze  caused  me  to  shift  and  ask — 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      129 

"You'll  be  willing  to  start  back  east  after  you  get  out  of 
this?" 

"When  my  successor  comes.  The  X.  Y.  people  allow  nothing 
to  interfere  with  the  interests  of  the  company." 

"Except  rum,"  I  reminded. 

"That  was  my  whim.  The  company  will  disapprove.  My 
defence  will  be  that  the  drinking  made  it  dangerous  for  me. 
They  will  let  it  go  at  that.  The  companies  know  liquor  is  bad 
for  the  trade.  If  it  weren't  for  competition  they  wouldn't  use 
it.  It  isn't  sound  business.  You  must  depend  entirely  upon  the 
Indians  to  get  furs  into  the  posts.  The  richest  fur  country  in  the 
world  would  be  worthless  unless  you  had  Indians  to  work  it. 
Then  where  is  the  sense  in  killing  off  your  workmen  with  rum  ? 
Every  drinking  match  means  so  many  wounded  and  usually  one 
or  more  dead.  It's  bad  enough  when  the  quarrels  are  kept  with 
in  one  tribe,  but  let  a  Chippewa  stab  a  Cree,  or  a  Cree  an  Assin- 
iboin,  and  you  have  a  season  of  war  between  the  two  tribes,  and 
no  trade.  Except  when  fighting  an  opposition  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  is  very  careful  about  giving  out  liquor.  So  would 
the  X.  Y.  and  the  N.  W.  be  if  either  could  have  all  the  trade." 

"If  the  N.  W.  and  the  opposition  posts  should  shut  down  on 
rum  to-morrow  you'd  find  these  Indians  hunting  for  some  free 
trader  to  give  rum  for  their  goods.  They  will  travel  any  dis 
tance  to  get  new  'milk.'  They  will  have  rum  and  we  must  have 
the  furs.  There  is  no  other  way." 

"Oh  yes,  there  is,"  she  murmured.  "Give  one  company  a 
monopoly  of  the  trade,  and  the  furs  will  come  in  and  no  rum 
will  go  out." 

"But  which  company?  The  N.  W.?  Then  I  agree  with  all 
my  heart." 

"The  companies  should  combine  into  one.  No  company 
would  refuse  if  it  knew  a  monopoly  was  to  be  granted." 

She  became  silent  and  I  was  satisfied  to  study  her  profile. 
During  the  stress  of  fighting  and  retreating  I  had  defended  her 
from  a  sense  of  duty.  The  puzzling  and  disturbing  emotions 
which  had  driven  me  up  the  river  to  find  her  had  abated.  From 
the  moment  we  met  in  the  woods,  and  I  learned  my  work  was 


i3o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

cut  out  for  me  she  became  quite  impersonal,  something  to  be 
saved.  The  Pillager  placed  her  on  a  pedestal  and  looked  on 
her  as  mighty  medicine  because  of  her  hair. 

Now  that  I  took  time  to  study  her  she  became  a  personality 
again,  to  be  protected  differently  than  one  protects  a  pack  of 
beaver.  This  knowledge  was  borne  in  upon  me  after  I  had 
decided  she  was  very  tired.  Weariness  suggests  weakness.  The 
strain  had  told  on  her  and  this  fact  humanized  her.  I  began  to 
pity  her.  I  was  guilty  of  feeling  glad  she  was  weary,  for  it 
proved  that  she  was  no  superwoman. 

I  arranged  a  robe  at  the  foot  of  an  oak  between  two  huge 
roots  and  asked  her  to  lie  there  and  rest.  At  first  she  dismissed 
the  suggestion  with  an  impatient  shake  of  the  head,  then  ab 
ruptly  changed  her  mind  and  made  herself  comfortable.  I  re 
mained  behind  the  bushes  watching  the  enemy.  Inside  of  five 
minutes  her  deep  and  regular  breathing  told  me  she  was  asleep. 

I  turned  and  looked  at  her  and  found  the  masculine  resolu 
tion  which  had  characterized  her  face  was  replaced  by  woman 
liness.  She  held  a  new  interest  for  me,  and  I  wondered  if,  when 
back  east,  she  was  not  always  like  this,  relaxed  and  soft  and 
winsome.  She  was  half  reclining,  half  sitting,  with  her  head 
and  shoulders  against  the  oak,  and  as  I  gazed,  her  head  sank  to 
one  side  and  I  feared  she  would  lean  too  far  and  lose  her 
balance.  I  sat  beside  her,  and  her  head  rested  on  my  shoulder. 

Thus  we  sat  while  the  sun  sped  along  on  its  eternal  errand. 
Thus  we  sat  when  a  Sioux  vidette  galloped  slowly  toward  the 
grove  with  the  intention  of  counting  coup  by  coming  very  close. 
Through  the  lace  work  of  willow  branches  I  could  see  the 
scoundrel  plainly,  although  remaining  unseen  by  him. 

As  the  girl  had  her  head  pillowed  on  my  right  shoulder  I 
raised  my  gun  with  my  left  hand.  Even  when  thus  handi 
capped  I  knew  I  could  pot  him  if  he  should  come  up  a  bit  closer. 
He  wavered,  almost  halted  and  stabbed  his  suspicious  glances  up 
and  down  the  front  of  our  shelter,  then  directed  his  horse  well 
within  easy  range.  I  had  him,  only  the  explosion  of  the  piece 
would  have  startled  the  girl.  I  held  my  fire.  Something  sud 
denly  alarmed  him,  and  he  yanked  his  pony  about  and  rode 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      131 

frantically  back  to  his  mates.  Arrows  began  pursuing  him, 
three  in  the  air  at  a  time,  and  I  knew  the  Pillager  was  back 
from  his  trip  of  discovery.  The  arrows  did  no  damage,  and 
the  man  escaped. 

Then  the  Pillager  burst  through  the  undergrowth,  his  face 
distorted  with  fear.  On  beholding  us  he  grunted  in  deep  dis 
gust,  yet  looked  much  relieved.  Finding  the  savage  so  close 
without  any  action  on  my  part,  he  assumed  we  had  been  butch 
ered.  The  girl  stirred  and  opened  her  blue  eyes.  For  a  few 
moments  she  remained  with  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  her  eyes 
slightly  dazed  as  sleep  still  lingered.  Then  a  red  tide  spread 
to  her  neck  and  she  drew  back  against  the  tree  trunk. 

"You  could  have  killed  him !"  Flat  Mouth  was  accusing. 

"The  range  was  long,"  I  protested. 

"You  could  have  killed  him,"  insisted  the  chief.  "The  Medi 
cine  Hair  slept  on  your  shoulder,  or  we  would  have  now  one 
more  dead  Sioux." 

The  girl  understood.    Her  manner  was  gentle  as  she  asked—* 

"You  didn't  fire  because  of  me?" 

"You  were  sleeping  nicely.  You  needed  rest.  To-night  will 
be  very  hard  on  you.  Besides,  the  chief  is  mistaken.  The  war 
rior  was  too  far  away." 

Flat  Mouth  easily  followed  my  disclaimer  and  with  a  grunt 
cried : 

"Let  the  Medicine  Hair  see  how  far  away  the  Sioux  dog 
was." 

Before  I  could  stop  him  he  was  running  out  on  the  plain.  The 
horseman  pranced  about,  undecided  whether  to  drive  him  back 
or  await  developments.  Possibly  they  believed  he  was  insane. 
He  stopped,  stuck  an  arrow  into  the  earth  and  loudly  called : 

"Here,  white  woman,  is  where  the  dog  turned  his  horse.  Is  it 
long  range?" 

"Almost  an  easy  pistol  shot,"  she  murmured.  "You  shouldn't 
have  minded  me." 

"But  I  do  mind  you,"  I  assured.  "Besides,  one  more  dead 
won't  save  us.  Others  will  be  arriving  before  night.  Shooting 
won't  get  us  clear.  We  must  depend  on  the  darkness." 


132  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"You  think  we  can  break  through  ?"  she  wistfully  asked. 

"We  will  sneak  through,"  I  answered,  renewing  my  pity  for 
her  as  I  more  fully  realized  how  she  had  stood  face  to  face  with 
death  ever  since  discovered  by  the  Sioux. 

The  Pillager  and  I  had  the  stimulus  of  battle  to  hold  us  up 
to  the  mark.  She  must  await  the  verdict  and,  if  it  be  adverse, 
kill  herself  or  die  a  thousand  deaths. 

"I  suppose  it  depends  on  whether  the  Sioux  up  the  river 
arrive  before  or  after  dark,"  she  murmured. 

"It  will  be  dark  before  they  arrive,"  I  comforted. 

I  was  horribly  afraid.  The  Sioux  would  make  all  haste  on 
reading  the  smoke  which  told  of  three  victims — one  a  woman — 
awaiting  capture.  I  believed  they  would  arrive  before  night. 
Did  they  do  this  we  must  stand  an  attack  in  force  and  go  down 
fighting.  I  prayed  for  a  storm  to  spoil  their  bow-strings  and 
leave  my  gun  master  of  the  situation,  but  the  wind  continued 
strong  from  the  south,  and  there  was  no  hint  of  rain  in  the  sky. 

Had  it  been  a  case  of  the  Pillager  and  myself  we  would  have 
taken  to  the  river,  trusting  to  reach  the  opposite  bank  and  find 
a  hiding  place  in  the  thickly  timbered  country.  By  separating, 
one  of  us  would  stand  some  chance  of  escaping.  Together  with 
the  girl  it  would  be  a  miracle  if  we  could  conceal  ourselves  even 
if  we  reached  the  other  bank  of  the  river.  Only  a  black  night 
would  reduce  the  advantage  of  mere  numbers. 

Flat  Mouth  came  up  to  us,  turned  on  his  heel  and  retired  into 
the  timber.  I  endeavoured  to  engage  him  in  conversation  but  he 
would  not  talk.  The  girl  said  his  silence  meant  he  had  lost 
hope,  that  he  believed  the  enemy  would  receive  reinforcements 
before  night.  I  insisted  he  was  still  angry  because  I  had  not  shot 
at  the  Sioux  while  she  slept  on  my  shoulder.  Then  we  sat  side 
by  side,  trying  to  conceal  from  each  other  our  anxiety,  as  we 
watched  the  sun  and  kept  an  eye  on  the  few  Indians.  They  too 
seemed  more  interested  in  the  upper  reaches  of  the  Red  than  in 
us.  Like  ourselves  they  were  watching  for  the  coming  of  their 
tribesmen. 

The  sun  was  all  but  lost  behind  the  western  rim,  and  the  long 
shadows  cast  by  the  Indians  in  front  of  us  would  soon  fade  with 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      133 

the  twilight.  Now  the  race  between  the  red  scoundrels  and  the 
sun  was  almost  run,  my  heart  began  jumping  most  erratically. 
The  girl  seemed  lost  in  a  reverie,  so  I  left  her  to  see  what  was 
going  on  north  of  the  timber. 

The  Indians  were  dismounted  and  stretched  across  the  plain 
to  prevent  our  making  a  break.  There  were  no  shadows  now, 
and  the  light  had  perceptibly  dimmed.  I  knew  how  quickly  the 
light  fled  in  these  vast  areas  of  loneliness,  once  the  sun  gave  up 
the  fight.  Only  a  few  minutes  more  and  we  would  hope  for 
the  best.  A  warrior  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stared  toward  the 
river.  I  believed  he  had  glimpsed  the  Pillager.  He  said  some 
thing,  and  other  warriors  stood  up,  one  even  standing  on  his 
horse. 

Then  came  a  high  pitched  call  from  the  river.  With  an 
extravagant  display  of  joy  they  answered  the  call,  sprang  to 
their  ponies  and  began  riding  back  and  forth.  From  the  other 
side  of  the  timber  came  a  yelping  chorus. 

"Mr.  Franklin !  Mr.  Franklin !"  called  the  bell-like  voice  of 
Miss  Dearness. 

1  ran  back,  much  alarmed,  and  found  she  had  come  as  far  as 
the  rivulet  in  search  of  me. 

"They're  coming !"  she  said. 

I  raced  to  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  beheld  them,  riding  far 
apart,  waving  their  weapons  and  shouting  their  war-songs  as 
they  slowly  cantered  towards  us.  Dropping  on  one  knee,  I 
covered  the  man  riding  in  advance  of  the  line  whose  elaborate 
headdress  marked  him  as  the  bearer  of  the  pipe  on  this  expedi 
tion.  I  sent  a  ball  through  his  chest  most  neatly,  and  as  his 
spirit  fled  to  the  land  of  many  lodges  his  followers  came  to  a 
confused  halt.  I  fired  again,  this  time  knocking  a  man  half 
round  in  his  saddle  but  not  dismounting  him.  Instantly  the 
survivors  scurried  back.  As  I  was  reloading  Flat  Mouth  came 
through  the  bushes  and  motioned  for  me  to  follow  him.  I  hesi 
tated  to  leave  the  girl,  but  she  urged : 

"Go !    They've  learned  their  lesson.    They'll  keep  back." 

Flat  Mouth  hurried  diagonally  across  the  timber  and  emerged 


134  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

on  the  lower  edge  near  the  river.  Drawing  me  down  beside 
him,  he  pointed  to  the  east  bank  and  grunted — 

"Sioux!" 

"I  heard  their  signal,"  I  informed  him. 

"They  came  down  the  river  on  the  other  side.  When  it  gets 
very  dark  they  will  bring  their  horses  over.  They  heard  your 
gun  and  they  don't  want  to  try  it  just  now." 

"When  they  cross  we  can  not  break  through,"  I  said. 

"We  will  all  be  killed  if  we  stay  in  the  woods.  You  must 
stop  them  from  crossing  their  horses  for  a  little  while.  The 
Sioux  on  this  side  feel  sure  of  a  coup.  They  will  not  fight  till 
their  friends  join  them.  Stay  here  till  it  gets  too  dark  to  sryoot. 
I  will  take  Medicine  Hair  and  the  horses  to  the  end  of  the 
timber.  When  they  attack  on  both  sides  we  must  ride  after  the 
sun." 

"West?" 

"It  leads  from  home  but  it  is  the  nearest  way  there.  We  can 
strike  the  Cheyenne  near  the  Lac  du  Diable  country.  There 
are  many  good  hiding  places  there." 

The  bushes  across  the  river  swayed  and  a  painted  face  showed 
through  the  dusk  as  one  of  the  newcomers  stood  up  to  signal 
the  horsemen  on  our  side.  Knowing  I  could  not  begin  too  soon 
to  teach  them  their  place,  I  rested  the  gun  on  Flat  Mouth's 
shoulder,  aimed  a  bit  high  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
brave  go  sprawling  down  the  bank,  his  head  and  shoulders 
remaining  under  water.  This  kill  wrung  a  chorus  of  devilish 
yells  from  the  hidden  warriors.  Flat  Mouth  hurled  his  war- 
cry  at  them  and  danced  in  great  glee. 

I  reloaded  and  urged  the  Pillager  to  return  to  the  girl  and 
prepare  her  for  making  the  tip  of  the  grove.  Reluctantly  he 
left  me,  swinging  to  the  north  to  take  a  final  look  at  the  horse 
men  there,  and  I  settled  down  to  waiting. 

Objects  began  to  fade  out  of  my  vision.  Trees  near  by  be 
came  blurred  and  unreal.  I  knew  our  supreme  effort  could  not 
be  long  delayed.  The  surface  of  the  water  became  a  black 
waste,  and  I  thought  I  heard  a  faint  splash  opposite  my  position. 
Now  voices  began  calling  loudly  farther  down  the  river.  The 


THE  SIOUX  RECEIVE  REINFORCEMENTS      135 

newcomers  had  gone  to  find  a  crossing.  I  could  see  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  put  after  the  chief  and  the  girl ;  then  the  soft 
splashing  was  repeated,  this  time  nearer. 

Quitting  the  bushes,  I  crawled  through  the  mud  to  the  edge 
of  the  bank  and  heard  a  rippling  sound  that  was  not  made  by 
the  lap-lap  of  the  water  on  the  narrow  beach.  Suddenly  a  vague 
shape  stood  before  me,  within  twenty  feet,  and  I  fired.  He  did 
not  have  time  to  utter  his  death  cry  before  slumping  back  into 
the  current.  Trailing  my  gun,  I  ducked  into  the  woods  and 
followed  up  the  rivulet. 

The  Pillager  and  Miss  Dearness  were  about  half-way  to  the 
end  of  the  timber  when  I  overtook  them.  It  seems  she  had 
refused  to  go  further  until  I  joined  them. 

"Take  her  and  go  on,"  viciously  directed  Flat  Mouth,  thrust 
ing  the  bridles  of  the  three  horses  into  my  hands. 

"No  time  for  you  to  count  a  coup,"  I  warned  as  he  turned 
back. 

"Very  soon  I  shall  be  at  your  heels,"  he  promised. 

Our  progress  was  slow  because  of  the  difficulty  in  avoiding 
the  frequent  clumps  of  willows.  From  the  plain  on  the  north 
came  the  sound  of  much  singing.  From  the  south  the  Indians 
were  racing  their  horses  impudently  near  the  woods  and  yelling 
derisively.  I  gave  the  girl  the  bridles  to  hold  while  I  recharged 
my  gun.  We  had  nearly  reached  the  end  of  our  cover,  and  the 
underbrush  was  thinning  out,  when  the  girl  caught  my  hand  and 
whispered — 

"They're  trying  to  burn  us  out!" 

I  sniffed  and  detected  smoke,  a  thin  reek  of  burning  grass.  I 
wet  my  finger  and  tested  the  faint  breeze.  It  still  held  from  the 
south.  Creeping  to  the  edge  of  the  plain  I  could  make  out  mov 
ing  shapes  as  the  Indians  rode  up  and  down  the  front  of  the 
timber.  But  there  were  no  fires  burning  on  this  side,  and  a 
blaze  lighted  on  the  north  would  sweep  away  from  us. 

Returning  to  Miss  Dearness,  I  reassured  her. 

"Then  there  is  only  one  other  explanation,"  she  said.  "Flat 
Mouth  has  set  the  grass  afire  on  the  north  side  of  us," 

"It  will  burn  to  the  Turtle,  perhaps  to  the  Park." 


I36  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Someone  is  coming!"  she  warned,  and  again  her  hand  in 
stinctively  closed  over  mine. 

I  cocked  the  gun  and  rested  it  over  a  saddle,  not  bothering 
to  release  my  hand. 

"It  is  Eshkebugecoshe,"  softly  called  a  voice. 

The  girl  dropped  my  hand  hurriedly. 

Without  pausing,  Flat  Mouth  took  charge  of  the  horses  and 
pressed  ahead  while  I  guarded  the  rear.  Now  the  smoke  was 
very  noticeable  and  our  animals  showed  a  tendency  to  bolt. 

"You  fired  the  grass?"    I  whispered. 

"In  many  places,"  he  grunted.  "The  Sioux  are  spreading  out 
and  watching  for  us  to  ride  through  under  cover  of  the  smoke. 
The  warriors  on  the  other  side  will  think  we're  escaping  and 
will  ride  into  the  woods." 

We  were  at  the  end  of  the  timber,  and  the  girl  mounted  her 
pony  and  adjusted  her  white  robe. 

Dead  ahead  sounded  the  pounding  of  hoofs  and  an  Indian 
screamed  something.  Flat  Mouth  interpreted : 

"He  says  for  the  men  to  ride  through  the  woods,  some  to  go 
to  the  river,  some  to  come  up  here,  some  to  follow  the  fire  and 
see  if  we  are  there,  some  to  keep  in  front  of  it.  Wait  for  me 
here  and  do  not  fire  the  gun  unless  you  have  to." 

Before  we  could  restrain  him  he  was  galloping  toward  the 
messenger,  his  white  robe  making  him  resemble  a  Sioux  warrior 
whose  skins  were  white  with  clay.  I  heard  him  salute  the  Sioux 
in  that  tongue.  The  other  asked  something  in  a  sharp,  insistent 
voice.  The  next  moment  there  was  the  blurr  of  a  struggle,  then 
the  clump  of  a  falling  body.  A  horseman  was  riding  toward  me. 
I  cocked  my  piece,  but  Flat  Mouth  softly  commanded : 

"Hurry!     Hurry!" 

Then  he  took  the  girl's  pony  by  the  halter  and  led  the  way 
out  into  the  plain. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE 

Oour  left  the  warriors  were  entering  the  woods.    On  our 
ght  they  were  riding  their  ponies  through  the  fire  to 
nd  us  behind  the  smoke.     Had  it  been  autumn  there 
would  have  been  no  passing  the  flames,  but  with  the  short  stub 
ble  sprinkled  with  the  new  grass  trying  to  gain  the  sun,  and 
with  the  ground  still  wet,  there  was  no  danger.    The  smoke, 
the  night,  and  the  shouting  brought  much  confusion  to  the 
enemy.    Away  from  it  all  we  rode,  the  girl  and  the  Pillager  in 
advance,  and  I  scampering  behind  with  my  two  barrels  ready. 

Our  escape  must  have  been  quickly  discovered,  as  we  had  not 
travelled  more  than  two  miles  before  we  heard  shouting  to  the 
north  and  abreast  of  us.  We  slowed  our  animals  to  a  walk,  our 
course  tending  a  bit  south  of  west  and  which,  if  persisted  in, 
would  bring  us  to  the  Cheyenne  River.  The  Sioux  knew  we 
were  somewhere  south  of  them  and  were  concentrating  all  their 
efforts  in  throwing  a  barrier  across  the  plains  to  prevent  our 
turning  north  towards  the  Pembina. 

I  rode  up  beside  the  girl.  She  reached  out,  patted  my  arm 
and  said — 

"I've  made  you  a  lot  of  bother." 

"Life  out  here  is  made  up  of  bothers.  I'm  glad  to  find  one 
that's  worth  while." 

"You  say  it  very  nicely,"  she  approved.  "But  I  won't  be  a 
bother  to  anyone  again  if  I  can  get  out  of  this.  So  long  as  I 
could  manage  without  being  helped  it  was  my  place  to  stay. 
Now  that  I  find  I  have  to  shift  my  responsibilities  I  am  anxious 
to  go  back  east.  I  never  had  believed  it,  but  I  do  now;  a  woman 
is  sure  to  need  help  some  time." 

137 


138  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"She  wouldn't  be  a  woman  if  she  didn't,"  I  declared.  "Even 
men  expect  to  help  each  other  in  this  country." 

"He  doesn't  have  to  ask  another  to  see  to  it  he  isn't  taken 
prisoner,"  she  gravely  replied.  "I  had  no  right  to  ask  you. 
Another  example  of  dodging  responsibilities." 

"God  forbid  it  should  ever  have  to  be!" 

"But  you  wouldn't  let  them  take  me  alive?"  she  fiercely  de 
manded. 

"No  man  would/'  I  answered. 

Again  she  patted  my  arm  and  murmured — 

"If  we  had  met  back  east  we  might  have  been  such  friends." 

The  wind  whipped  a  strand  of  her  hair  across  my  face,  and  in 
that  moment  she  was  all  feminine — dependent,  and  her  presence 
became  a  tonic.  I  was  saved  from  replying  to  her  last  speech — 
a  foolish  speech,  as  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  our  being  "such 
friends"  out  here — by  a  warning  hiss  from  the  Pillager. 

He  leaped  to  the  ground  and  ordered  us  to  do  likewise.  I 
helped  the  girl  to  dismount,  and  the  chief  caught  her  pony  by 
the  nose  to  keep  him  from  giving  an  alarm,  while  I  muzzled 
my  own  beast  and  waited.  A  thudding  of  hoofs,  not  more  than 
four  men,  as  the  Pillager  whispered,  drew  nearer.  They  were 
bearing  directly  down  on  us,  and  I  was  anxious  to  release  my 
animal  and  make  ready  to  fire.  Flat  Mouth  warned : 

"Be  still !  See  that  the  horse  doesn't  call  out.  They  can't  see 
us." 

I  knew  this  must  be  true,  as  we  could  see  nothing  of  them. 
On  they  came  and  raced  by  in  front  of  us  and  very  close — a 
suggestion  of  motion  as  if  something  had  disturbed  the  darknes? 
and  left  a  swirl  of  darkness  behind  it.  These  were  spies  sent 
out  to  learn  our  true  position.  Above  us  on  the  right  the  enemy 
kept  calling  back  and  forth  as  they  patrolled  from  east  to  west. 
Still  on  foot,  we  resumed  our  flight,  the  chief  picking  his  course 
without  any  hesitation.  I  suggested  the  necessity  of  a  turning 
movement  before  daylight,  but  he  discouraged  it,  saying: 

"We  must  keep  this  way  till  light.  Then  we  must  hide.  This 
is  a  big  war-party.  It  will  be  ashamed  to  go  back  and  face  the 
women  without  scalps  to  pay  for  the  braves  we  have  killed. 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          139 

These  are  the  Sioux  of  the  plains,  very  cruel  and  fierce.  Once 
they  held  the  country  along  the  lower  Red  River.  They  are 
always  at  war  with  the  Chippewas." 

"For  just  where  are  we  striking?'* 

"The  bend  of  the  Cheyenne.  It  is  very  rough  and  heavily 
wooded  along  the  river.  The  Sioux  claim  the  country.  We  can 
hide  there  a  few  days  and  then  go  home." 

From  what  he  said  I  judged  the  distance  to  be  covered  was 
about  forty  miles.  I  know  that  we  rode  and  walked  all  night 
long  with  the  Sioux  hovering  to  the  north  of  us  during  much  of 
the  journey.  When  the  east  began  lighting  its  fires,  and  we 
were  permitted  to  see  the  plain  around  us,  I  was  delighted  by 
two  discoveries;  the  plain  was  empty  of  Indians,  and  a  short 
distance  ahead  a  thick  growth  marked  the  course  of  the  Chey 
enne  where  it  made  its  northern  loop. 

The  girl  swayed  in  her  saddle,  and  I  rode  closer  to  her. 

"I  was  asleep,"  she  drowsily  murmured,  leaning  against  my 
arm.  "Dreamed  the  Indians  had  captured  me,  that  you  came." 

Again  her  head  dropped,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  I 
learned  of  the  heroics  I  played  in  that  particular  dream. 

Flat  Mouth  led  the  way  into  the  growth,  going  ahead  to 
make  sure  no  grizzlies  were  waiting  to  pounce  upon  our  horses. 
After  securely  hobbling  the  animals  so  they  could  not  escape, 
he  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  river  which  flowed  unseen 
near-by.  I  spread  out  the  skin  and  three  of  the  robes  and  in 
duced  the  girl  to  lie  down.  Then  I  placed  the  remaining  robes 
over  her  to  keep  out  the  morning  chill  and  promised  to  call  her 
for  breakfast. 

Searching  the  edge  of  the  growth,  I  collected  an  armful  of 
dry  sticks  which  I  knew  would  not  smoke,  and  by  the  time  I 
had  done  this  Flat  Mouth  appeared  with  several  wild  geese. 
He  attended  to  the  cooking,  making  a  fire  so  small  as  to  seem 
ridiculous  to  a  white  man.  As  he  broiled  the  fowl  he  told  me 
the  trees  were  ripped  and  seamed  by  bears'  claws  and  that  both 
banks  of  the  river  must  be  teeming  with  the  animals.  I  had 
nothing  but  contempt  for  the  black  and  brown  varieties,  know 
ing  them  to  be  harmless,  but  the  grizzly  was  a  different  propo- 


I4o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

sition.  Flat  Mouth  insisted,  however,  that  these  seldom  at 
tacked  unless  cornered  or  wounded. 

The  girl  woke  up,  and,  after  she  had  eaten,  the  chief  and  I 
stuffed  ourselves.  Then  he  insisted  that  we  try  to  get  some 
sleep.  The  sun  was  half-way  through  its  day's  work  when  I 
opened  my  eyes.  The  girl  was  seated  with  her  back  to  a  tree, 
her  hair  a  marvel  of  neatness.  She  had  thrown  a  robe  over  me, 
and  this  little  act,  so  meaningless  to  those  never  initiated  into  the 
wilds,  affected  me  strangely.  It  was  the  first  time  in  many  years 
that  anyone  had  taken  thought  for  my  comfort;  certainly  the 
first  wherein  a  woman  had  given  me  any  attention  since  I  was  a 
child  in  the  States  and  under  my  mother's  care.  My  first  sen 
sation  was  that  of  being  "mothered."  I  liked  it.  All  men  do, 
let  them  disclaim  to  the  contrary  as  they  will. 

I  half  closed  my  eyes  and  for  several  minutes  pretended  to  be 
asleep,  that  I  might  watch  her.  Her  blue  eyes  were  serene ;  her 
fine  features  were  softened  by  repose.  Here,  in  a  position  of 
great  danger,  she  impressed  me  as  revealing  her  true  self,  her 
genuine  womanliness.  At  the  X.  Y.  post,  where  no  physical 
harm  could  intrude,  she  had  been  cold,  hard  and  unapproach 
able. 

At  last  she  caught  me  spying  and  coloured  furiously,  instinc 
tively  feeling  of  her  hair. 

"Where  is  the  chief?"    I  innocently  asked. 

She  pointed,  and  I  arose  and  beheld  him  sleeping,  lying  on  his 
face.  When  I  stepped  toward  him  he  came  to  his  senses  and 
sprang  to  his  feet  like  a  wildcat.  Our  voices  had  not  disturbed 
him  but  my  step  had.  Subconsciously,  perhaps,  he  had  cata 
logued  our  voices,  but  a  stealthy  step  was  not  so  easily  classified. 
He  always  insisted  a  person  woke  up  more  easily  and  more  com 
pletely — woke  up  all  over  as  he  expressed  it — if  he  slept  on  his 
face.  The  girl  insisted  that  he  finish  out  his  nap.  but  he  replied 
he  was  "filled"  with  sleep  and  would  need  no  more  till  another 
day. 

The  girl  said  that  during  our  slumbers  there  had  been  no 
signs  of  life  on  the  plain  except  the  buffalo  and  their  lurking 
escort  of  gray  wolves.  She  had  heard  sounds  back  in  the  woods, 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          141 

and  once  a  red  deer  had  poked  his  head  through  the  bushes  to 
look  us  over. 

I  went  with  Flat  Mouth  to  the  river,  where  he  fashioned 
several  drinking-dishes  out  of  bark,  and  while  there  we  saw 
seven  grizzlies  descend  the  opposite  shore  to  drink.  They  were 
huge  brutes  and  more  to  be  feared  than  the  Sioux,  should  they 
take  a  notion  to  attack.  The  Pillager  observed  them  uncon 
cernedly,  however,  assuring  me  that  they  would  not  bother  us 
if  we  did  not  trouble  them. 

The  river,  he  reminded  us,  was  seldom  visited  by  Assiniboin, 
Cree,  or  Chippewa  because  the  Sioux  claimed  it.  From  fear  of 
attacks  from  the  northern  Indians,  the  Sioux,  in  turn,  seldom 
came  there  except  in  war  strength.  So  all  animal  life  had  been 
left  to  develop  undisturbed  by  man.  The  bears  had  not  been 
hunted  and  did  not  know  man  as  a  destroyer.  This  was  all 
very  comforting  as  long  as  I  could  believe  it,  but  the  thought  of 
the  girl  back  in  the  little  glade  alone,  with  these  monsters  wan 
dering  about  in  batches  of  seven,  made  me  anxious  to  return. 

We  took  water  to  her  and  on  the  way  started  up  red  deer 
which  were  nowhere  near  as  shy  as  those  on  the  Red  River. 
Leaving  her  again,  we  visited  the  horses  and  found  them  con 
tentedly  grazing  inside  the  fringe  of  bushes  and  willows.  Leav 
ing  the  chief  with  them,  I  rejoined  the  girl. 

"Must  we  wait  until  night  before  starting  home  ?"  she  eagerly 
asked. 

"I  believe  that  is  the  chief's  idea.  He  knows  the  country  and 
the  Indians  far  better  than  we  do.  We  must  take  no  foolish 
risks." 

"If  you  were  alone  would  you  start  now?"  she  asked. 

In  truth  I  should  have,  but  I  said  nothing. 

"Then  pretend  I'm  a  man.  Let's  go  at  once,"  she  cried  with 
a  show  of  impatience,  and  she  stood  and  began  gathering  up 
the  robes. 

My  imagination  was  incapable  of  detecting  anything  mascu 
line  in  her  splendid  womanhood.  I  could  not  suppress  a  small 
smile  at  her  suggestion.  Instantly  she  was  the  woman  of  the 
X.  Y.  post  and  was  commanding: 


142  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Call  the  Indian  !    Tell  him  we  start  at  once." 

Flat  Mouth  appeared  on  the  scene  before  I  could  remon 
strate  with  her.  In  Chippewa  she  repeated  to  him  her  intention 
of  starting  for  the  Red  River.  He  shook  his  head,  saying — 

"We  must  stay  here  a  little  longer." 

"You  two  can  stay.  I  will  go  alone.  The  country  is  per 
fectly  safe.  The  Sioux  have  lost  the  trail  entirely." 

I  have  no  doubt  she  would  have  taken  a  pony  and  set  forth 
if  I  had  not  stopped  her,  saying: 

"You  can't  go  alone.    We'll  take  orders  from  the  Pillager." 

"I'll  take  orders  from  no  one,"  she  haughtily  informed.  "I 
suppose  I  may  have  one  of  the  horses,  seeing  that  they  belonged 
to  the  Sioux?" 

"No." 

"Very  well,  I  can  make  it  afoot,"  she  calmly  said. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  I  angrily  inquired.  "Can't 
you  reason?  Or  is  it  your  temper?" 

I  thought  she  was  trying  to  annihilate  me  with  her  furious 
gaze.  By  an  effort  she  mastered  herself  and  quietly  retorted : 

"My  temper  is  nothing  to  you.  We're  thrown  together  by  a 
series  of  mishaps.  I  appreciate  your  coming  to  find  me,  but  if 
your  coming  makes  you  feel  any  responsibility  for  my  acts  I'm 
sorry  you  came." 

"The  Lord  forbid  I  should  ever  have  to  be  responsible  for 
such  a  bundle  of  spite  as  you  seem  to  be,"  I  peevishly  protested. 

She  smiled  with  her  lips,  turned  and  walked  towards  the 
plain.  I  caught  up  with  her  and  demanded — 

"What  do  you  plan?". 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  the  X.  Y.  post,"  she  lazily  informed. 

"Unless  you  return  to  cover  at  once  the  Pillager  and  I  will 
tie  you." 

"You  would  never  dare!"  she  gritted,  turning  on  me  like  a 
cat. 

All  my  silly  resentment  dropped  from  me,  and  I  gently  ex 
plained  : 

"Miss  Dearness  I  should  never  dare  to  look  a  man,  red  or 
white,  in  the  face  if  I  allowed  you  to  start  alone  for  the  Red. 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE  143 

I  won't  threaten  again  to  tie  you,  but  if  you  start  for  the  Red 
I'll  go  with  you.  It's  hardly  fair  to  let  the  Pillager  go  with  us 
as  he  is  of  a  different  race." 

She  fought  the  battle  with  herself,  her  red  hair  being  a  true 
gauge  of  her  temper.  Suddenly  she  surrendered,  murmuring: 
"I  was  wrong.  We'll  go  back  to  the  chief." 

"You're  tired.  Your  nerves  are  out  of  tune.  In  a  few  hours 
it  will  be  night;  then  we  can  go." 

"It  isn't  my  nerves,"  she  contritely  corrected.  "It's  just 
temper." 

"My  temper  is  off  the  key.  Of  course  I  spoke  foolishly  when 
I  said  I  would  tie  you." 

"I'll  obey  orders." 

Flat  Mouth  had  watched  us  without  a  lineament  of  his  strong 
face  betraying  that  he  could  either  see  or  hear.  When  we  joined 
him  he  gave  her  a  quick  look  and  walked  towards  the  horses. 
She  remained  silent,  not  inclined  to  talk.  I  waited  some 
minutes  to  see  if  she  desired  companionship,  then  went  after 
the  Pillager. 

The  chief  was  crouching  behind  some  cherry  trees  and  had, 
I  observed,  shifted  the  horses  deeper  into  the  growth.  He  was 
staring  intently  out  on  the  plain.  He  motioned  for  me  to 
drop  beside  him.  My  heart  gave  a  thump,  for  I  had  been  so 
positive  we  had  shaken  the  Sioux  off  our  trail  that  this  hint  of 
their  presence  weakened  me  for  a  moment. 

"Assiniboins,"  he  said. 

"Where  ?"  I  demanded.  He  pointed  to  the  northern  rim  and 
by  much  staring  through  half-closed  lids  I  managed  to  make  out 
some  dots. 

"Buffaloes,"  I  decided. 

"Assiniboins,"  he  repeated. 

"Then  they're  friendly.  They  won't  do  anything  worse  than 
try  to  steal  our  horses." 

"They've  killed  traders  when  catching  them  alone.  These 
are  not  of  the  same  band  that  comes  to  the  Pembina." 

"All  the  Assiniboins  are  good  robe-makers.  They're  all 
friendly  with  the  whites,"  I  persisted. 


144  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"These  are  not  any  Red  River  band.  If  they  see  us  they  will 
do  their  best  to  kill  us  and  take  our  horses.  I  am  an  Indian. 
I  tell  you  I  know  this." 

As  a  trader  I  had  had  experience  only  with  straggling  bands 
of  the  tribe.  It  was  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  I  had  anything 
to  fear  from  a  people  who  begged  rum  rations  from  me  and  who 
went  and  came  when  I  gave  the  word.  My  incredulity  must 
have  been  obvious,  for  the  chief  hissed  out — 

"Do  you  think  Eshkebugecoshe  is  afraid  ?" 

No,  he  was  not  afraid.  He  had  lived  with  Mandans  and  had 
fought  with  them  and  their  allies,  the  Crows,  against  these  same 
Assiniboins  and  the  Sioux.  The  tribe  had  taken  to  horses,  being 
a  migratory  people  and  forever  chasing  the  buffalo,  and  horses 
they  must  have.  That  they  would  appropriate  ours  if  they  got 
the  chance  went  without  saying,  but  I  had  supposed  the  theft 
would  be  committed  with  stealth  and  in  no  event  be  accom 
panied  with  violence. 

"Say  what  is  to  be  done  and  we  will  do  it,"  I  agreed. 

"We  will  wait  until  they  go.  If  they  come  down  here  we 
will  follow  up  the  river,"  he  replied.  Then  very  significantly — 
"They  must  not  see  the  white  woman." 

"She  was  big  medicine  to  them  once,"  I  reminded. 

"To  those  who  came  to  the  Pembina.  But  the  Voice  is  back 
on  the  River  That  Calls,  and  this  band  would  kill  her  to  prevent 
it  being  stolen  again." 

I  remembered  what  the  girl  had  told  me,  much  to  the  same 
effect,  and  if  Flat  Mouth  was  not  afraid,  I  was. 

Yet  I  still  hoped  and  half  believed  the  dark  objects  were 
buffaloes.  At  so  great  a  distance  it  is  impossible  to  detect  any 
but  the  most  rapid  motion.  A  horse  galloping  at  full  speed  will 
scarcely  appear  to  be  moving.  So  far  as  the  dots  were  con 
cerned,  they  appeared  to  be  stationary.  We  rose  to  go  back  to 
the  camp,  and  I  was  debating  whether  it  was  necessary  to  in 
form  Miss  Dearness  of  this  possible  new  peril,  when  the  Pil 
lager  gave  a  sharp  yell  and  went  bounding  through  the  bush  as 
if  the  devil  were  nipping  his  heels.  Believing  the  girl  was  in 
some  danger,  I  charged  after  him.  When  I  entered  the  glade 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          145 

he  was  furiously  stamping  out  a  little  fire.  Miss  Dearness  stood 
at  one  side  anxiously  watching  him. 

"What  have  I  done  now?"  she  whispered  to  me. 

"Nothing,"  I  warmly  assured,  scowling  at  the  Pillager. 

"Green  bark!"  he  grunted  and,  tilting  his  head,  he  pointed 
upward.  Even  with  the  fire  extinguished  there  was  a  pale  haze 
floating  clear  of  the  tree  tops, 

I  belittled  it,  saying — 

"An  eagle  cou.ldn't  see  that,  Eshkebugecoshe." 

"They  have  sacrificed  dogs  to  their  manito.  Their  medicine 
is  strong,"  he  gloomly  retorted. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Franklin?  Are  the  Sioux  near?" 
cried  Miss  Dearness. 

"Not  a  Sioux  in  sight.  The  Pillager  and  I  disagree  about 
some  dots  out  on  the  plain.  He  says  they're  Assiniboins.  I  say 
they  are  buffaloes." 

"And  he  fears  they  saw  the  smoke,"  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands.  "Now  I've  brought  new  danger  on  you  two  by  my 
thoughtlessness.  It  was  so  dreary  waiting.  I  forgot  myself.  I 
threw  some  green  bark  on  the  hot  ashes  to  see  it  curl  up — it 
burst  into  flame — then  I  fed  on  some  green  sticks — I  bring  bad 
luck." 

"Nonsense,"  I  sharply  replied.  "Is  it  surprising  that  a  band 
of  thieving  Indians  should  stumble  upon  us  here?  They  will 
stand  clear  of  my  gun.  It's  stood  off  their  betters." 

I  turned  to  Flat  Mouth  and  boasted  the  same  to  him. 

He  shook  his  head  energetically: 

"It's  no  medicine  to  the  Assiniboins,  the  Crees,  or  the  Chip- 
pewas.  They  have  seen  it  and  its  two  barrels,  and  the  truth 
has  gone  through  the  three  tribes.  They  are  two  shots  afraid ; 
that  is  all.  Soon  the  Sioux  of  the  plains  will  know  about  it. 
Then  it  won't  be  medicine  to  them." 

He  ran  back  to  watch  the  dots,  and  Miss  Dearness  and  I 
followed  him.  Now  they  were  no  longer  dots  but  mounted 
men.  They  had  drawn  near  enough  for  us  to  be  sure  of  this, 
and  yet  they  strangely  resembled  buffaloes.  It  was  not  until  a 
line  of  them  raced  parallel  to  our  hiding  place  that  I  discovered 


146  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

the  cause  for  my  fancy.  Each  warrior  wore  on  his  head  a  cov 
ering  of  buffalo  hide  to  which  were  fixed  two  horns.  In  some 
cases  this  strange  head-gear  comprised  the  whole  head  of  the 
creature,  the  skull  bones  having  been  carefully  removed,  and  the 
skin  worn  as  a  hood. 

They  seemed  to  be  racing  about  aimlessly,  and  I  rejoiced  to 
the  Pillager — 

"They  didn't  see  the  smoke." 

"It  was  such  a  tiny  smoke  they  couldn't,"  added  Miss  Dear- 
ness. 

The  Pillager's  answer  was  a  silent  drama.  Without  a  word 
he  reached  over  his  shoulder  and  pulled  arrows  from  his  quiver. 
Without  removing  his  gaze  from  the  swiftly  manoeuvring  horse 
men  he  placed  the  arrows  before  him  in  a  row,  then  caught  up 
his  bow  and  drew  the  cord  taut.  Miss  Dearness  glanced  at  me 
with  a  little  frown  worrying  her  forehead. 

"They  think  we're  here?"  I  asked  Flat  Mouth. 

"They  know  it,"  he  tersely  responded. 

To  my  way  of  thinking  the  horsemen  were  not  acting  sus 
piciously.  One  of  them,  the  leader,  whirled  a  disk  of  rawhide 
from  the  point  of  his  lance  and  the  riders  raced  to  where  it 
fell,  jabbing  and  spearing  until  one  managed  to  pick  it  up.  He, 
in  turn,  carried  it  triumphantly  aloft  until  hard  pressed,  when 
he  sent  it  sailing  from  him,  and  again  the  mad  scramble  to 
obtain  it. 

I  doubted  the  Pillager's  bald  assertion  until  I  noted  that  the 
rawhide  was  always  being  sent  in  our  direction.  Each  rush 
brought  the  band  closer.  Now  the  chief  had  the  piece  of  hide 
and  his  men  were  strung  out  behind  him  in  undulating  loops 
like  the  letter  S  greatly  prolonged.  My  eyes  were  distracted 
by  the  constantly  shifting  loops.  Yet  the  leader,  with  each 
manoeuver,  brought  them  nearer  to  the  woods. 

"They're  coming!"  I  softly  warned  as  the  first  loop  suddenly 
swung  far  forward  so  as  to  line  up  fully  thirty  warriors  riding 
abreast  with  their  chief  on  their  left. 

"Fire  the  gun  and  get  back  to  the  horses!"  ordered  Flat 
Mouth,  snatching  up  an  arrow. 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          147 

With  a  terrific  shout  the  whole  band  came  toward  us.  I 
fired  both  barrels  into  the  front  rank,  and  a  miss  was  impossible. 
Flat  Mouth's  bow  began  to  twang,  and  his  arrows  streamed  into 
the  centre  of  the  assault. 

"Get  to  the  horses!"  he  cried  and  then  raised  a  war-cry. 

It  was  not  the  Pillager's  yell,  but  the  cry  of  the  Sioux,  and 
faster  and  faster  flew  the  arrows.  I  seized  the  girl's  wrist  and 
urged  her  to  the  camp.  I  had  barely  slipped  the  hobbles  and 
gathered  up  the  halter  ropes  when  Flat  Mouth  came  gliding  to 
us,  his  face  exalted  with  the  lust  of  battle  against  great  odds. 
Without  a  word  he  took  his  horse  and  began  leading  the  way 
along  a  deer-path  that  led  up-stream.  The  girl  rode  behind 
him,  and  I,  on  foot,  brought  up  the  rear. 

I  managed  to  reload  one  barrel  and,  as  nothing  happened,  I 
halted  and  charged  the  other.  The  way  was  rough  and  at  every 
rod  we  read  the  signs  of  much  game.  Little  piles  of  hair  at 
the  foot  of  trees  whose  bark  was  worn  smooth  showed  that  the 
buffaloes  penetrated  the  thickets  in  considerable  numbers.  Signs 
of  bears  were  the  most  plentiful,  however.  It  was  a  pelt- 
hunter's  paradise  if  he  could  gather  the  toll  without  losing  his 
scalp. 

After  an  hour  of  continuous  travel  the  Pillager  halted  and 
briefly  explained : 

"They  didn't  dare  to  enter  the  woods  at  first,  thinking  the 
Sioux  were  there.  My  Sioux  war-cry  and  the  Sioux  arrows 
fooled  them.  They'll  soon  find  out  their  mistake.  Their  men 
are  creeping  in  now ;  soon  they'll  see  where  only  two  men  and  a 
woman  camped.  Soon  they  will  come  fast." 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  asked  Miss  Dearness. 

"Cross  the  river  and  strike  for  the  Mandan  villages  on  the 
Missouri,"  was  the  astounding  answer. 

I  gasped  aloud  in  dismay.  Leave  the  post  with  only  foolish 
Probos  on  duty,  with  old  Tabashaw  having  free  rein  to  intimi 
date,  to  bully,  and  to  consume  the  company's  rum !  Run  to  the 
Missouri  to  escape  while  home  was  so  near? 

"It  must  be  so,"  growled  the  chief,  guessing  my  reluctance. 
"Only  in  that  way  can  we  save  the  white  woman." 


I48  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"To  the  Mandan  villages  it  is,  then,"  I  agreed. 

"I'm  willing  to  risk  turning  back,"  spoke  up  Miss  Dearness. 

"Eshkebugecoshe  is  not  willing,"  grimly  retorted  the  chief. 
"I  killed  some  of  them,  and  the  gun  killed  some.  When  they 
see  how  they  were  tricked  only  one  torture  will  satisfy  them. 
Wait  while  I  look  at  the  river." 

He  glided  down  the  rough  and  heavily  timbered  bank.  While 
he  was  gone  I  strained  my  eyes,  seeing  an  enemy  in  every  bush 
and  stump.  At  last  he  returned  and,  without  speaking,  led  his 
pony  down  the  slope.  I  estimated  our  position  to  be  directly 
south  of  the  Lac  du  Diable  country  and  I  knew,  from  talks  with 
the  post  Indians,  that  the  river  woods  we  were  now  traversing 
thinned  out  into  scattering  willows  a  few  miles  farther  west. 

The  river  was  once  occupied  by  the  Cheyennes  who  served  as 
a  barrier  between  the  Sioux  and  the  Chippewas,  being  neutral 
to  both.  More  than  half  a  century  before,  the  Chippewas,  a 
very  jealous  people  by  nature,  got  the  idea  the  neutrals  were 
favouring  the  Sioux  in  trade.  While  returning  from  an  un 
successful  expedition,  a  war-party  of  Chippewas  fell  on  a  Chey 
enne  village  and  killed  many.  The  Cheyennes  promptly  mi 
grated  across  the  Missouri,  and  since  then  the  red  shadow  of 
the  Sioux  has  hung  over  the  Chippewas,  with  no  neutral  nation 
between  to  minimize  the  shock  of  an  attack. 

The  crossing  was  not  difficult  and  we  made  it  easily  and  sur 
mounted  the  opposite  bank,  but  left  a  trail  a  bull  buffalo  could 
read.  Flat  Mouth  held  up  his  hand  for  silence  and  cocked  his 
ear.  I  heard  nothing  beyond  the  usual  noise  of  wood  life. 

"They're  following  our  trail,"  he  warned.  "If  we  stick  to 
the  woods  they  will  overtake  us.  Our  only  chance  is  to  take  to 
the  open  now  and  ride  for  it.  Our  horses  are  fresh,  theirs  are 
tired.  Once  on  the  plain,  we  can  leave  them." 

"But  they'll  chase  us?"  asked  the  girl. 

He  nodded  and,  to  cheer  her  up,  added : 

"We  shall  find  some  Mandans,  or  some  of  the  Big  Bellies 
(Minnetarees)  hunting  buffalo.  They  will  help  us." 

We  broke  through  the  timber  and  started  for  the  southwest 
at  a  gallop.  We  had  gone  not  more  than  a  fourth  of  a  mile 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          149 

when  a  ringing  cry  sounded  behind  us.  Glancing  back,  I  be 
held  a  warrior  dancing  and  waving  his  arms  at  the  edge  of  the 
timber.  We  had  not  advanced  more  than  half  a  mile  before 
nearly  a  hundred  horsemen  emerged  from  the  woods. 

Flat  Mouth  was  worried,  for  well  he  knew  that  it  would  take 
more  than  an  ordinary  hunting  party  to  stand  off  such  a  force. 
At  the  start  the  chances  favoured  us,  as  our  animals  were  well 
rested,  whereas  the  enemy's  had  been  ridden  far  and  fast.  There 
was  no  question  as  to  our  maintaining  a  safe  lead,  providing 
none  of  our  animals  met  with  an  accident.  Realizing  this  my 
eyes  became  focused  on  the  flying  feet  of  Miss  Dearness's  mount. 
At  every  stride  I  expected  to  see  a  hoof  stick  into  a  hole  and  hurl 
her  to  the  ground,  leaving  one  of  our  mounts  to  carry  a  double. 
I  glanced  back  once  more  and  beheld  even  more  warriors  quit 
ting  the  woods. 

Flat  Mouth  grimly  explained : 

"Big  war-party  going  to  fight  the  Mandans.  We  shall  have 
them  all  the  way." 

He  insisted  it  was  the  medicine  of  the  girl's  hair  that  per 
mitted  us  to  drop  them  before  the  night  came.  I  felt  a  great 
uplift  when,  with  the  last  light,  I  failed  to  make  out  their  figures 
against  the  northern  skyline.  The  chief  quietly  assured  me  they 
would  be  on  our  trail  in  the  morning. 

We  camped  that  night  in  the  bed  of  a  dry  coulee.  The  chief 
managed  to  kill  a  buffalo  calf  with  his  bow  and  arrow,  and  we 
ventured  to  build  a  small  fire,  fencing  it  about  with  our  white 
robes.  Over  this  we  broiled  some  excellent  steaks  and  cooked 
enough  to  carry  with  us  on  the  morrow.  At  daybreak  we  were 
up,  and  beheld  figures  creeping  over  the  horizon. 

The  country  grew  rougher  with  each  hour,  and  we  lost  the 
Assiniboins  only  when  we  dropped  into  the  hollows.  On  sur 
mounting  ridge  or  hillock  we  raised  them  to  view  again,  ten 
aciously  sticking  to  our  track.  Flat  Mouth  had  eyes  only  for 
what  was  ahead,  seeking  for  some  opportunity  of  shaking  the 
enemy  off.  I  was  always  staring  behind  me,  fascinated  by  the 
implacable  purpose  that  held  the  savages  to  the  chase.  The  girl 


150  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

rode  with  head  bowed,  seldom  bothering  to  lift  her  gaze  from 
the  ground.    Her  fear  was  an  accident  to  her  pony. 

We  began  to  encounter  coulees  filled  with  water,  each  a  sign 
post  for  the  Couteau  du  Missouri,  the  rough  and  hilly  country 
we  must  cross  before  descending  to  the  Missouri  River.  The 
Pillager  believed  the  Assiniboins  would  not  venture  beyond  this 
height  of  land.  Yet  they  were  in  such  strong  force  they  might 
recklessly  risk  an  encounter  with  Mandan  or  Minnetaree. 


Ahead  were  the  steep  red  banks  of  the  Missouri.  At  our 
feet  were  two  cows  freshly  slain.  Flat  Mouth  inspected  them, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  our  flight  from  the  Cheyenne  his 
immobile  features  showed  animation. 

"The  brains  have  been  taken  to  dress  hides.  Hunters  did  it, 
not  a  war-party  after  meat.  Only  Mandans  hunt  here." 

The  Assiniboins  had  been  lost  to  sight  for  a  day.  In  their 
place  we  were  dreading  a  Sioux  war-party,  for  the  Sioux  hung 
closely  about  the  Mandan  villages,  seeking  to  pick  off  a  victim 
or  two.  To  the  north  of  the  villages  was  a  stretch  of  timber, 
and  in  this  cover  small  bands  of  the  Sioux  would  hide  and  wait 
for  days,  being  satisfied  if  they  killed  a  lone  hunter  or  a  woman. 
We  had  passed  through  the  rough  country  of  the  Coteau  and 
had  an  excellent  view  of  the  river  in  the  southeast.  Flat  Mouth 
insisted  we  were  too  far  downstream  and  said  we  must  cross  a 
high  and  precipitous  bank  on  our  right.  To  me  it  seemed  a 
needless  exertion,  as  we  could  round  the  end  of  the  ridge  by 
skirting  its  base  until  it  broke  off  at  the  river,  but  the  chief  felt 
the  menace  of  the  Sioux  and  must  have  his  way.  I  did  not  be 
lieve  the  horses  could  make  the  ridge,  for  the  soil  was  glutinous 
mud  from  the  spring  rains. 

The  Pillager  dismounted  to  demonstrate  what  an  Indian  pony 
could  do  and  with  the  beast  scrambling  like  a  cat  he  led  the  way 
up  the  slope.  Miss  Deamess  made  light  of  it,  although  she  was 
forced  to  climb  it  afoot.  On  reaching  the  top  we  had  a  more 
intimate  view  of  the  river.  The  valley  was  some  two  miles  in 
width  and  caged  in  by  steep  banks.  The  current  was  sluggish 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          151 

and  swollen,  dotted  with  much  driftwood  .and  many  black  dots 
which  I  knew  to  be  drowned  buffalo.  Immediately  below  us 
was  a  growth  of  big  cottonwoods,  and  from  our  position  to  these 
woods  ran  a  well-beaten  path. 

For  the  first  time  since  our  race  began,  I  presumed  to  take  the 
lead,  but  before  I  could  do  more  than  press  ahead  to  the  brow 
of  the  ridge,  Flat  Mouth  was  halting  me  and  explaining  that  the 
way  was  full  of  dangers  and  that  he  must  go  first.  I  placed  my 
gun  across  my  saddle,  but  the  danger  was  not  animate  and 
consisted  of  certain  deep  holes,  or  pits  the  Indians  had  dug  for 
trapping  fox  and  wolves.  These  pits  were  ten  or  more  feet 
deep,  with  the  openings  masked  by  the  dead  grass. 

We  descended  slowly  and  cautiously,  skirting  several  of  these 
menaces,  and  I  know  I  should  have  plunged  into  the  first  one, 
had  I  had  my  way.  At  the  foot  of  the  ridge  the  Pillager  reined 
in  and  warned: 

"We  must  say  we  have  come  from  Fort  Assiniboin,  that  the 
Medicine  Hair  is  the  daughter  of  the  big  white  chief  there  and 
that  we  work  for  him.  The  big  white  chief  wishes  to  open  a 
post  here  and  sends  his  daughter  because  her  medicine  lets  her 
see  things  we  men  can  not  see.  He  has  told  us  to  stay  but  a  few 
days  and  to  ask  for  warriors  to  go  back  with  us  as  far  as  the 
Mouse.  The  Mandans  must  not  know  we  were  driven  here  by 
the  Assiniboins.  They  would  think  the  white  woman's  medicine 
was  weak  and  that  her  father  was  a  little  chief  if  they  knew  the 
Assiniboins  had  made  us  run." 

"Why  can't  we  start  back  as  soon  as  we  get  fresh  horses?" 
I  anxiously  asked,  my  mind  reverting  to  the  incompetent  Probos 
in  charge  of  the  post  and  to  old  Tabashaw  bullying  him  for 
rum. 

"And  why  must  we  travel  by  the  way  of  the  Mouse?"  de 
manded  Miss  Dearness,  referring  to  the  long  route  to  the  con 
fluence  of  the  Mouse  and  the  Qu'Appelle,  thence  down  the 
Assiniboin  to  the  Forks,  where  we  would  turn  south  up  the 
Red. 

"We  must  stay  and  look  about,  as  if  looking  for  a  good  place 
for  a  post,"  Flat  Mouth  patiently  explained.  Then  to  the  girl — 


152  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"We  must  come  from  Fort  Assiniboin  to  show  why  we  are  here. 
We  must  go  back  the  same  way  to  make  our  talk  sound  straight. 
Even  if  we  could  pick  our  trail  we  must  return  by  way  of  the 
Mouse  and  the  Assiniboin.  It  is  the  regular  path  and  safer." 

I  told  Miss  Dearness  the  chief  was  right  and  that  a  few  days 
wouldn't  make  much  difference,  that  we  ought  to  be  thankful 
at  having  escaped  the  Sioux  and  the  Assiniboins — this  to  cheer 
her  up. 

"Oh,  we  will  go  through  with  it,"  she  wearily  replied.  "I 
was  thinking  of  you  and  your  affairs  more  than  of  mine.  I 
have  no  trade  to  lose.  Angus  can  watch  the  post  till  I  get  back, 
or  my  successor  arrives." 

With  our  story  understood  we  started  ahead,  taking  the  sem 
blance  of  a  road  which  had  been  much  travelled  but  never  re 
paired.  It  was  filled  with  mud  and  holes  and  eloquently  re 
vealed  the  ravages  of  the  spring  freshet.  We  followed  this  into 
the  woods  and  continued  through  the  growth  for  two  miles.  It 
was  most  abominable  travelling.  At  last  we  were  clear  of  it  and 
were  come  to  a  riot  of  beans,  squash,  and  corn  sprouts,  but  so 
mixed  with  grass  that  I  proclaimed  it  to  be  mighty  poor  garden 
ing.  I  was  disappointed,  as  I  had  heard  much  about  the  Man- 
dans  as  agriculturists.  Flat  Mouth  explained,  however,  that 
these  budding  growths  were  runaways  and  represented  only 
what  the  wind  had  stolen  and  sown  broadcast.  The  tribe's 
gardens  were  farther  on. 

"Here  is  the  village !"  warned  the  girl. 

She  checked  her  mount  and  stared  wonderingly  and,  with  a 
little  shudder,  exclaimed : 

"It's  like  a  village  of  the  dead.    Where  are  the  Indians?" 

Flat  Mouth  twisted  uneasily  in  his  saddle  and  whispered : 

"It  is  a  village  of  the  dead — a  village  they  left  when  I  was 
here  last.  The  gardens  would  not  grow.  After  so  many  years 
the  ground  refuses  to  care  for  the  seed ;  then  they  move.  Wlien 
they  left  this  place  they  used  it  for  their  dead." 

We  pressed  ahead  a  bit  and  came  in  full  view  of  the  grue 
some  exhibit.  The  girl  quailed  for  a  moment,  then  held  up  her 
head  and  gazed  about  steadily.  Everywhere  were  platforms 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          153 

some  ten  feet  in  height,  and  on  these  were  laid  the  dead.  The 
shrouds  were  of  dressed  leather,  some  in  very  excellent  condition 
and  fit  for  trade;  but  for  the  most  part  the  coverings  had  suc 
cumbed  to  the  weather  and  had  fallen  apart,  allowing  the  bones 
to  show.  Some  of  the  platforms  had  fallen  to  the  ground  and 
no  attempt  had  been  made  to  replace  them  or  their  grim 
burdens.  We  quickened  our  pace  and  soon  were  beyond  the 
forbidding  spot. 

"Remember  our  talk!"  warned  the  Pillager,  kicking  his  horse 
into  a  gallop  and  riding  ahead. 

Off  at  one  side  and  at  a  distance  was  an  Indian  with  a  gun. 
Around  him  were  women  and  children  working.  These  were 
the  gardeners  and  they  were  planting  and  hoeing  under  an 
armed  guard.  This  was  impressive  proof  of  their  daily  danger. 
Even  at  the  very  outskirts  of  their  villages  they  did  not  dare  to 
move  about  without  a  sentinel.  Just  as  the  Red  River  of  the 
North  always  contained  the  menace  of  the  Sioux,  so  did  the 
stretch  of  woods  hold  for  Mandan  and  Minnetaree  a  hidden 
danger. 

At  the  Pillager's  gesture  the  girl  and  I  halted  while  he  rode 
to  the  man  with  the  gun.  I  saw  the  fellow  nervously  cock  his 
piece,  then  stand  keenly  at  attention  while  Flat  Mouth,  with 
both  hands  above  his  head,  talked  to  him.  Suddenly  the  gun 
was  lowered,  and  the  guard  was  shaking  hands  warmly  with 
our  companion. 

"He  recognizes  him,"  murmured  the  girl. 

The  two  conversed  for  several  minutes,  then  came  to  us.  Flat 
Mouth  announced  it  was  all  right,  that  we  were  to  proceed  and 
find  quarters  at  the  village  a  short  distance  ahead.  The  guard 
smiled  broadly  and  shook  hands  with  me,  but  seemed  to  stand 
in  awe  of  Miss  Dearness.  Later  I  learned  the  Pillager  had 
filled  him  with  tales  concerning  the  wonderful  medicine  she 
possessed  and  her  powers  as  a  magician.  Then  the  guard  looked 
at  my  pony  and  at  the  chief's  and  said  something  we  could  not 
understand. 

"He  asks  where  our  presents  are,"  translated  the  Pillager. 

He  might  well  be  puzzled,  for  beyond  the  white  robes  snugly 


154  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

wrapped  in  my  blanket  we  had  no  possessions.  No  voluntary 
visitor  to  the  villages  would  fail  to  bring  a  pack-animal  or  two 
loaded  with  gifts. 

Before  I  could  scare  up  an  answer  the  girl  was  haughtily 
saying  in  Chippewa: 

"Tell  him  the  big  white  chief  does  not  send  gifts  by  his 
friends.  He  has  slaves  to  bring  them.  They  will  come  later. 
He  will  decide  how  much  to  send  after  he  hears  how  we  have 
been  treated." 

Flat  Mouth's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  listened,  but  his  bearing 
was  stern  and  haughty  as  he  translated  her  words  to  the  guard. 

The  guard  next  informed  us  that  an  H.  B.  man  was  living 
in  the  village  across  the  river,  but  was  now  on  the  headwaters 
of  the  Missouri  looking  for  trade  in  spring  beaver. 

The  man  returned  to  his  charge,  and  we  rode  on.  All  I 
could  think  of  on  first  glimpsing  the  round  domes  of  the  Man' 
dan  houses  was  of  a  colony  of  gigantic  beavers.  These  huts  were 
very  large,  some  being  ninety  feet  in  diameter  and  so  solidly 
built  that  fifty  men  could  lounge  on  their  tops  at  a  time.  The 
door  of  each  was  of  rawhide,  stretched  over  willow,  and  was 
nearly  six  feet  square.  A  broad  porch  led  up  to  this.  Near 
each  porch  was  a  platform,  a  score  of  feet  long,  half  as  wide 
and  eight  or  nine  feet  high.  On  these  platforms  they  stored 
their  corn  to  dry  in  the  fall,  also  their  meat,  but  now  these 
were  being  used  for  driftwood. 

Flat  Mouth  told  us  the  village  depended  entirely  for  its  sup 
ply  of  fuel  on  what  the  river  brought  down  each  spring.  From 
my  view  of  the  swollen  stream  and  its  innumerable  trees  I  could 
see  the  toll  must  be  enormous.  The  reason  why  we  had  not 
seen  more  Indians  in  travelling  to  the  village  was  that  the  able- 
bodied  were  busy  swimming  in  the  icy  current  and  bringing  the 
drift  ashore,  while  their  people  watched  and  encouraged  them. 
Besides  the  driftwood  they  brought  drowned  buffalo  ashore  in 
large  numbers,  and  these  were  already  giving  off  the  stench  of 
decay.  My  Chippewas  would  salvage  the  dead  brutes  when  the 
ice  went  out,  when  the  meat  was  firm  and  fresh,  but  the  Man- 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          155 

dans  and  the  Minnetarees,  the  Pillager  assured  me,  preferred  the 
tainted  to  the  fresh. 

What  men  I  saw  on  shore  were  stout  and  strongly  built  and 
wore  their  hair  trailing  at  their  heels  and  even  sweeping  the 
ground.  As  they  daubed  this  daily  with  red  and  white  earth 
the  effect  was  grotesque.  The  same  cough  which  was  troubling 
our  Indians  seemed  to  be  common  with  them. 

As  we  entered  the  village  we  were  discovered  and  quickly 
surrounded.  They  greeted  us  cordially,  shaking  hands  and 
seemingly  much  pleased  at  our  coming.  Some  recognized  Flat 
Mouth  and  hailed  him  as  a  friend.  Then  they  commenced 
asking  where  we  had  left  our  packs.  As  he  had  explained  to 
the  armed  guard,  so  now  did  the  Pillager  explain  to  the  tribe 
that  while  we  represented  the  greatest  traders  of  the  North  we 
had  brought  no  goods  with  us  either  for  trade  or  for  gifts. 
Their  faces  fell. 

The  chief  continued  to  explain  how  our  errand  was  to  in 
vestigate  the  chances  of  trade.  Of  course  he  described  Miss 
Dearness  as  being  a  medicine-woman  and  the  daughter  of  the  big 
white  chief  at  the  head  of  the  fort  on  the  Assiniboin.  It  was 
grimly  amusing  that  I  should  pose  as  an  engage  instead  of  bour 
geois,  that  she,  of  the  opposition,  should  masquerade  as  my 
superior. 

The  interest  Miss  Dearness  aroused  was  accumulative,  and  it 
was  plain  she  created  a  tremendous  impression.  One  young 
buck  standing  close  to  her  pony  reached  up  a  hand  to  feel  the 
texture  of  her  fiery  hair.  As  quick  as  loup-cervier  her  hand  rose, 
and  the  handle  of  her  leather  whip  landed  on  his  wrist,  causing 
him  to  spring  back  in  dismay.  I  think  it  was  the  blazing  fire  of 
her  blue  eyes,  rather  than  any  physical  hurt  from  the  blow, 
that  startled  the  fellow. 

Flat  Mouth  took  occasion  to  warn  that  the  hair  was  medicine 
and  that  the  white  woman  had  saved  the  young  man's  life  by 
preventing  his  touching  it.  After  that  incident  the  circle  wi 
dened.  In  turn  the  Indians  informed  us  that  the  Sioux  had  been 
very  troublesome  ever  since  the  snow  melted,  and  that  since  Le 
Borgne  (The  Blind),  the  great  war  chief  of  the  Minnetarees  on 


156  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

the  Knife  a  few  miles  above,  had  gone  out  with  a  hunting  party, 
the  Mandans  had  kept  their  huts  barricaded  every  night.  On 
his  return  an  alliance  was  to  be  formed  with  the  Cheyennes  and 
aggressive  measures  taken  to  teach  the  enemy  a  lasting  lesson. 

Flat  Mouth,  further  to  increase  our  prestige  and  make  them 
forget  we  came  without  gifts,  now  stated  that  the  good-will  of 
the  white  woman  was  worth  a  war-party  and  that  her  anger  was 
equal  to  a  blast  of  lightning. 

Firmly  believing  as  he  did  that  the  girl  possessed  powers  of 
magic,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  draw  a  long  bow,  and  I  was 
fearing  that  she  might  be  requested  to  bolster  up  her  reputation 
by  some  little  display,  when  a  newcomer  distracted  the  atten 
tion.  This  was  none  less  than  Poscopsahe,  or  Black  Cat,  the 
chief  of  the  village.  We  were  presented  to  him  and  he  was  duly 
impressed  by  the  girl  and  assured  her  that  the  big  white  chief 
would  do  well  to  send  traders  there  and  to  the  Minnetaree  vil 
lages  above,  but  especially  to  his  village  of  the  Mandans.  This 
jealousy,  when  it  came  to  acquiring  the  white  man's  goods  in 
trade,  was  very  keen  among  the  villages,  although  they  would 
unite  readily  and  solidly  enough  in  opposing  their  ancient 
enemies. 

Through  the  Pillager,  the  girl  calmly  replied  that  she  had 
heard  the  Mandans  had  a  good  trade  in  robes  and  buffalo 
tongues  and  a  fair  trade  in  beaver ;  that  she  would  look  the  vil 
lages  over  for  a  day  or  so  and  then  report  back  to  Fort  Assini- 
boin. 

With  these  ceremonies  out  of  the  way  we  were  shown  to  a 
hut  reserved  for  visitors.  I  took  my  pack  of  white  robes  inside 
and  turned  the  horses  over  to  a  young  man.  One  of  the  chief's 
wives  followed  us  to  the  hut  with  a  huge  dish  of  boiled  corn 
and  beans,  a  tasteless  mess,  and  another  of  dried  meat.  The 
latter  was  impossible  because  of  the  Mandans'  preference  for 
tainted  to  fresh  meat,  so  on  the  whole  we  made  a  sorry  meal 
of  it. 

Despite  our  explanation  that  we  had  no  goods  to  trade,  nor 
gifts  to  bestow,  the  men,  women,  and  children  crowded  about 
our  hut,  eager  for  us  to  open  our  packs.  The  fact  that  they 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          157 

had  seen  all  our  possessions,  namely  my  bundle  of  robes,  did  not 
spoil  their  imagination.  White  people  always  had  gifts,  always 
wanted  to  trade.  They  believed  that  in  some  mysterious  man 
ner  we  would  produce  articles  of  the  white  man's  making  which 
they  were  so  eager  to  secure.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  Flat  Mouth  persuaded  them  to  believe  we  had  nothing  to 
trade,  and  their  attitude  was  sullen  when  they  finally  withdrew. 

After  they  left  us  in  peace  the  Pillager  advised  that  we  take 
up  different  quarters,  urging  that  by  doing  so  we  would  create 
a  better  impression.  So  we  decided  that  Miss  Dearness  should 
remain  in  the  guest  hut  with  the  chief's  wife  as  attendant,  while 
the  Pillager  and  I  found  shelter  elsewhere.  Leaving  her  with 
the  Indian  woman,  we  went  out  to  look  the  village  over.  The 
Mandans,  being  a  settled  people,  had  no  need  for  dogs,  so  this 
nuisance  was  not  in  evidence.  The  children,  too,  were  quite 
decently  mannered,  although  they  would  have  stolen  the  clothes 
off  my  back  had  I  given  them  a  chance.  The  population  of  this 
and  the  village  across  the  river  was  about  two  thousand.  Flat 
Mouth  said.  I  suggested  we  cross  over  and  visit  the  second 
village.  Flat  Mouth  called  out  to  some  young  men,  and,  on 
my  giving  them  a  few  inches  of  tobacco,  they  readily  agreed  to 
set  us  across. 

Proceeding  to  the  river,  I  had  my  first  sight  of  a  bull-boat,  as 
their  curious  skin  canoes  are  called.  They  were  much  different 
from  the  skin  canoes  we  used  on  the  Red  River,  being  circular 
in  shape  and  formed  of  raw  buffalo  hides  stretched  over  a  frame 
of  willow.  The  craft  had  the  appearance  of  being  very  frail 
and  not  a  bit  suitable  for  navigating  the  swollen  and  muddy 
waters  of  the  Missouri,  yet  each  was  capable  of  carrying  eight 
hundred  pounds  or  more. 

One  man  did  the  paddling,  and  his  paddle  was  a  five-foot 
pole  with  a  strip  of  board  lashed  across  the  end.  With  his  first 
stroke  the  boat  turned  nearly  around,  but  he  quickly  reversed 
us  with  a  stroke  on  the  other  side.  First  one  was  looking  up 
stream  at  the  mass  of  floating  trees  and  dead  buffalo,  then  down 
stream.  It  made  me  dizzy,  yet  our  man  was  an  expert,  for  we 


158  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

drifted  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  whereas  the  average  boat 
man  would  have  drifted  a  full  mile. 

The  news  of  our  arrival  in  the  first  Mandan  village  had 
spread  across  the  river,  and  on  landing  we  were  met  by  a  crowd 
of  natives,  headed  by  Big  Man,  a  Cheyenne  prisoner  and  now 
adopted  into  the  tribe — a  man  of  prominence.  He  shook  us 
warmly  by  the  hand  and  anxiously  asked  why  we  had  left  all 
our  packs  in  Black  Cat's  village.  The  tedious  explanation  was 
given  by  Flat  Mouth  and  the  interest  of  the  assemblage  flattened 
out,  and  many  turned  away  to  resume  the  work  of  towing  trees 
and  dead  buffalo  ashore. 

Through  the  Pillager  I  learned  from  Big  Man  that  the  Min- 
netaree  village  was  much  excited  over  the  arrival  of  six  Chey- 
ennes  seeking  a  peace  treaty.  Messengers  had  been  sent  for  Le 
Borgne  to  bring  him  back  from  the  hunt.  Black  days  were 
waiting  for  the  Sioux,  once  the  treaty  was  perfected.  We  pa 
raded  the  village,  finding  it  a  duplicate  of  the  one  across  the 
river.  We  were  invited  into  several  huts  to  eat,  but  always 
found  the  meat  abominable.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  village 
women  with  hoes  made  from  buffalo  shoulder-blades  were  work 
ing  in  their  gardens,  with  armed  men  stationed  at  intervals. 
Their  danger  was  imminent,  much  like  that  which  surrounds 
some  of  the  smaller  wood-folk  who  live  under  stumps,  sporting 
and  raising  their  little  families  while  death  stalks  them  day  and 
night. 

The  Pillager  mumbled  to  me — 

"We  must  go  back  now." 

I  had  known  him  long  enough  to  realize  that  he  was  dis 
turbed  at  something.  Thanking  Big  Man  and  telling  him  he 
should  have  presents  when  our  traders  arrived,  we  returned  to 
the  river  and  were  ferried  across. 

"Something  makes  my  brother  sad,"  I  remarked  in  Chippewa 
after  we  had  stepped  ashore. 

"I  was  glad  when  I  heard  that  the  Blind  was  away  on  a 
buffalo  hunt.  My  heart  is  heavy  now,  for  they  send  to  bring 
him  home  to  meet  the  Cheyennes." 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE  159 

"You  believed  we  should  find  him  here  before  we  arrived," 
I  reminded. 

"I  knew  and  hoped  for  the  best.  When  we  came  and  found 
him  gone  my  heart  sang.  I  believed  we  should  get  away  before 
he  returned.  Now  to  find  he  will  come  back,  makes  me  sorry." 

"The  Blind  does  not  like  white  men?" 

"He  likes  white  men,"  was  the  laconic  response. 

"Then  why  feel  sad  to  know  he  is  coming  back?" 

"He  likes  women.  He  has  never  seen  such  a  woman  as  Medi 
cine  Hair.  He  is  a  mighty  war  chief.  His  word  is  law  in 
both  Minnetaree  and  Mandan  villages.  When  we  fought  the 
Sioux  and  the  Assiniboins  I  thought  only  of  escaping  to  a  place 
where  we  would  not  be  killed.  I  knew  we  would  not  be  harmed 
in  these  villages.  Now  I  have  had  time  to  think.  What  The 
Blind  wants  he  takes." 

The  danger  must  be  pressing  when  an  Indian  would  be 
troubled  over  the  fate  of  a  white  woman.  His  words  reduced 
my  complacency  to  ashes.  I  could  only  say — 

"We  must  start  before  he  comes  back." 

"They  will  think  our  coming  is  a  trick  if  we  go  away  too 
quickly,"  he  warned.  "I  will  talk  with  the  Mandans  and  ask 
if  they  have  seen  any  signs  of  Assiniboins  or  Sioux  to  the  north. 
We  must  visit  the  villages,  but  in  one  or  two  sleeps  we  might 
start  for  the  Mouse.  Once  we  reach  Fort  Assiniboin  the 
Medicine  Hair  will  be  safe." 

"But  Le  Borgne  would  be  very  blind  to  make  the  whites 
angry  by  taking  one  of  their  women,"  I  protested. 

Flat  Mouth  smiled  in  grim  pity  at  my  ignorance. 

"You  do  not  know  The  Blind,"  he  murmured.  "He  takes 
what  he  wants.  No  chief  is  as  powerful  as  he.  When  I  was 
here  before,  he  took  a  woman  from  a  Mandan  chief  who  went 
with  his  war-club  to  bring  her  back.  They  buried  his  war-club 
with  him.  He  likes  white  men.  He  will  treat  you  better  than 
his  warriors,  but  he  doesn't  let  anything  stand  between  him 
and  the  thing  he  wants." 

From  the  end  of  the  village  rose  the  girl's  wonderful  voice, 
singing  her  quaint  song,  in  which  one  heard  the  rush  of  the 


i6o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

river  and  the  sighing  of  the  wind,  a  voice  of  sadness  and  pathos, 
yet  coloured  with  a  rare  beauty.  For  the  first  time  I  realized 
there  were  no  Indians  hanging  about  us  begging  for  tobacco  and 
gifts.  We  walked  to  the  guest-hut  and  found  the  entire  village 
grouped  about  it.  Black  Cat  was  seated  on  a  robe,  before  the 
entrance,  smoking  his  Missouri  tobacco — villainous  stuff — and 
wondering  at  the  medicine  of  her  voice. 

"When  she  sings  her  medicine  song  I  see  the  leaves  turn 
yellow  and  drop,  and  I  feel  the  first  of  the  snow.  I  hear  the  ice 
breaking  up  and  smell  the  first  grass,"  said  Black  Cat  as  we 
stood  beside  him. 

"She  calls  the  voices  from  rivers  and  sends  them  back  when 
she  is  tired  of  them,"  Flat  Mouth  boasted.  "She  is  very  strong 
medicine.  It  is  her  hair.  The  Chippewas  are  afraid  of  her." 

"The  Chippewas  are  old  women,"  snorted  Black  Cat. 

Flat  Mouth's  visage  grew  very  wicked.  From  inside  the  robe 
he  was  wearing  Mandan-fashion  he  pulled  forth  a  grisly  string 
of  Sioux  scalps,  shook  them  in  Black  Cat's  face  and  hoarsely 
taunted : 

"I  am  a  Chippewa.  I  do  not  hide  in  a  village  when  the  Sioux 
of  the  Plains  come  near.  I  go  out  and  kill  them.  Have  the 
Mandans  any  old  women  who  take  scalps  like  these?" 

It  was  the  master-stroke  for  putting  the  beggars  in  their 
proper  place.  The  Cat  was  unable  to  speak  for  a  full  minute. 
His  eyes  glowed  and  gloated  over  the  trophies.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  loudly  proclaimed : 

"My  Chippewa  brother  is  a  very  brave  man.  I  will  adopt 
him  as  a  son.  He  shall  have  a  new  war  name.  He  shall  have 
many  wives.  He  shall  carry  the  pipe  for  us  against  our  ene 
mies." 

I  feared  Flat  Mouth  would  indulge  in  more  boasting  and 
scornfully  flout  the  chief's  offer,  but  his  finesse  was  sharpened 
because  of  the  girl's  peril.  He  replied — 

"After  I  have  taken  Medicine  Hair  back  to  her  father." 

This  gave  the  Cat  great  pleasure.  He  pictured  himself 
basking  in  the  glory  of  his  new  son,  the  recipient  of  homage,  the 
possessor  of  many  scalps.  He  loudly  announced  he  would  give 


WE  MEET  BLACK  CAT'S  PEOPLE          161 

a  feast  for  the  mighty  Chippewa  and  forthwith  directed  his 
wives  to  prepare  an  abundance  of  stinking  meat,  corn,  and  beans. 
The  Indians  scattered  in  all  directions  to  make  ready  for  the 
festival.  Black  Cat  hurried  off  to  see  his  commands  were 
obeyed,  and,  with  a  glance  at  me,  the  Pillager  walked  beside 
him. 

I  remained  before  the  hut.  The  door  swung  open  a  crack, 
then  wide  open,  and  Miss  Dearness  confronted  me,  her  eyes 
searching  mine  anxiously. 

"When  can  we  start  from  this  place?"  she  whispered. 

"Very  soon — in  a  few  days." 

"A  few  days!"  she  faintly  exclaimed.  "Something  tells  me 
we  must  start  at  once." 

"The  Pillager  would  say  it  is  your  medicine,"  I  bantered. 

"It  is  instinct.  It  has  never  failed  me  since  I  came  to  the  In 
dian  country.  Let  us  start  to-night!" 

"But  that  would  invite  danger.  We  must  make  a  pretence 
of  looking  the  villages  over  for  trade  purposes,"  I  protested. 
"If  there  is  any  vital,  any  immediate  danger,  of  course  we  will 
start  at  once  and  fight  for  it.  Now  tell  me  just  what  has  hap 
pened." 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  she  slowly  replied,  her  eyes  staring 
into  mine  and  yet  not  beholding  me.  "But  I'm  afraid — I  am 
horribly  afraid — different  from  anything  I  ever  felt  in  my 
life — I'm  never  afraid  of  death."  With  this  she  closed  the  door, 
leaving  me  standing  there  gaping. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE 

EARLY  next  morning  Flat  Mouth  and  I  went  to  Miss 
Dearness's  hut  and,  on  her  joining  us  at  the  porch,  asked 
her  to  make  ready  for  a  trip  to  the  Minnetaree  villages  a 
few  miles  above,  situated  on  the  Knife  River.  To  attempt  leav 
ing  the  country  without  visiting  these  "Big  Bellies/'  as  the 
trade  had  named  them,  would  be  to  incur  the  wrath  of  Le 
Borgne  and  throw  discredit  on  our  story  of  representing  the 
N.  W.  company  and  its  plan  to  set  up  an  opposition  to  the 
already  established  H.  B.  trader. 

The  girl  was  afraid.  Her  bearing  was  calm  and  collected 
enough,  but  there  were  transient  flashes  in  her  big  blue  eyes,  a 
curious  trick  of  glancing  sidewise  through  half-closed  lids,  that 
bespoke  a  furtive  fear.  However,  she  readily  agreed  we  must 
visit  the  upper  villages  to  sustain  our  role.  She  only  insisted 
that  we  make  all  haste  to  have  it  over  with. 

As  I  was  anxious  to  go  and  return  before  Le  Borgne  came 
back,  I  directed  Flat  Mouth  to  engage  men  to  cross  our  horses, 
promising  them  some  handsome  pipes  when  the  traders  arrived 
with  their  assortment  of  goods.  The  Mandans  proved  to  be  as 
expert  in  handling  the  horses  in  the  river  as  they  had  been  in 
collecting  the  driftwood.  Hitching  a  line  to  a  nag's  mouth,  a 
brave  would  take  the  end  between  his  teeth  and  swim  ahead 
while  others  swam  alongside  and  behind  the  animal.  In  this  way 
the  three  were  taken  across  quickly  and  drifted  downstream 
scarcely  at  all. 

When  we  landed  from  the  bull-boat  and  mounted  our  horses, 
we  were  surrounded  by  the  entire  village,  every  one  being  anx 
ious  to  gaze  on  the  white  woman  with  the  medicine  hair.  Miss 

162 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  163 

Dearness  would  have  drawn  her  capote  over  her  head  but  the 
Pillager  urged  her  not  to,  declaring  that  the  belief  she  was  a 
magician  would  help  us  much.  So  she  rode  between  us  with  her 
oriflamme  of  a  head  glinting  in  the  early  sunlight  and  making 
me  think  of  a  maple  turned  red  by  the  first  frosts. 

Flat  Mouth  improvised  a  legend  which  he  sung  as  we  slowly 
made  our  way  through  the  crowd.  It  was  to  the  effect  that 
beams  of  sunlight  became  imprisoned  in  the  girl's  hair  when 
she  was  born,  and  that  their  struggles  to  escape  created  the  pow 
erful  medicine  she  possessed. 

Big  Man  walked  by  my  side  and  informed  me  a  hunting  party 
of  a  hundred  braves  was  due  to  arrive  home  after  a  three  days' 
trip  and  that,  if  we  would  postpone  our  visit  to  the  Minnetarees, 
we  could  procure  some  fresh  meat.  I  immediately  feared  lest  the 
Minnetaree  chief,  Le  Borgne,  would  be  with  this  party,  but 
Flat  Mouth  explained  that  the  Minnetarees  hunted  to  the  south 
west  of  the  Knife  and  the  Mandans  to  the  southeast,  the  river 
being  the  boundary.  We  needed  fresh  meat  badly,  but  the  hunt 
ing  party  would  greatly  delay  our  journey  up  the  river,  so  we 
pressed  on  more  determinedly  than  ever. 

I  assured  Miss  Dearness  that  we  could  make  the  villages,  ride 
through  them  and  start  back  for  Black  Cat's  village  before  dark. 
On  returning  and  recrossing  the  river  we  could  decide  whether 
to  start  north  immediately,  unaccompanied,  or  wait  till  morning 
and  endeavour  to  obtain  an  escort  from  the  Mandans.  The  girl 
was  for  an  immediate  departure. 

I  had  planned  to  take  my  white  robes  with  me,  thinking  I 
might  have  a  chance  to  trade  them  for  horses,  they  being  about 
the  only  thing  the  Minnetarees  would  exchange  horses  for.  Flat 
Mouth,  however,  insisted  such  a  trade  would  consume  all  the 
day,  that  the  horses  we  had  were  fresh  enough,  and  that  the 
hides  had  better  be  left  behind  in  the  hut,  where  they  would  be 
perfectly  safe. 

So  we  rode  forth.  Miss  Dearness's  peculiar  type  of  loveli 
ness  was  greatly  accentuated  by  the  appearance  of  the  Mandan 
women,  who  could  not  be  called  comely  even  by  Indian  stand 
ards.  I  never  could  understand  why  the  Crows,  the  most 


1 64  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

lascivious  of  all  the  Indians  I  ever  met,  should  be  the  most  pre 
possessing  in  appearance,  or  why  the  women  of  the  Aricaras,  the 
most  treacherous  of  any  tribe  I  ever  encountered,  should  ap 
proach  the  nearest  to  the  white  standard  of  good  looks. 

Miss  Dearness  was  not  inclined  to  talk,  and  we  rode  rapidly, 
as  if  eager  to  have  done  with  a  disagreeable  errand.  The  road 
we  followed  was  very  decent  and  led  us  over  two  hills  and  then 
for  two  miles  across  a  plain,  skirting  a  small  village  which  we 
did  not  enter.  The  whole  distance  was  through  an  area  of 
gardens  which  included  much  ground  given  over  to  the  culti 
vation  of  sunflowers.  In  every  direction  were  horses  grazing  on 
the  early  grass,  and  Flat  Mouth's  eyes  glittered  as  became  a 
true  Pillager.  All  these  animals  were  brought  into  the  villages 
at  night,  revealing  the  Indians'  constant  dread  of  their  invet 
erate  enemies,  the  Sioux  and  the  Assiniboins.  The  Mandans 
kept  their  ponies  in  their  huts  while  the  Minnetarees  used  small 
corrals. 

These  villages  on  the  Missouri  and  Knife  were  distinct  from 
any  I  ever  became  acquainted  with.  They  suggested  permanency 
and  a  strong  devotion  to  the  soil,  especially  the  villages  of  the 
Mandans.  Our  road  along  the  south  bank  of  the  Missouri  to 
the  Knife  afforded  almost  continuous  glimpses  of  a  bucolic  life 
which  made  me  think  of  Canadian  villages. 

All  hunting  was  done  in  large  bands,  Flat  Mouth  told  me, 
for  fear  of  surprise  attacks.  Each  hunting  party,  therefore,  con 
tained  the  potentials  of  a  war-party.  Even  when  in  large  num 
bers  the  warriors  did  not  care  to  wander  far  from  their  homes 
lest  the  villages  be  assaulted  in  force  during  their  absence.  Be 
cause  of  this  caution  it  became  necessary  to  conserve  the  buffalo 
and  under  no  circumstances  scare  him  away.  It  resulted  that 
they  aimed  to  surround  a  small  herd  of  a  few  hundred  and  kill 
every  one.  They  believed  that  if  a  survivor  escaped  he  would 
communicate  his  alarm  to  other  herds.  Nor  did  they  use  their 
guns  in  hunting,  but  always  the  bow  and  arrow. 

The  first  pause  in  our  journey  was  at  the  Minnetaree  village 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Knife,  consisting  of  half  a  hundred  huts  and 
called  the  "little  village."  We  very  quickly  learned  there  was 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  165 

a  great  difference  between  this  and  either  of  the  Mandan  vil 
lages  in  regard  to  manners. 

The  moment  we  were  sighted  a  mob  of  young  demons  sur 
rounded  us,  hooting  and  deriding.  Their  elders  sat  smoking 
their  miserable  tobacco  on  top  of  the  huge  circular  huts  and 
enjoying  the  spectacle.  More  troublesome  even  than  the  chil 
dren  were  the  dogs  which  swarmed  from  all  directions.  They 
were  as  vicious  as  wolves  and  much  more  daring. 

Miss  Dearness,  who  had  drawn  her  capote  over  her  head 
when  we  neared  the  village,  gave  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  I  spurred 
forward  and  brained  a  brute  with  the  butt  of  my  gun  as  he 
leaped  high  to  pull  her  from  the  saddle.  This  act  caused  much 
scowling  and  mumbling  from  the  spectators,  which  I  inter 
preted  to  be  threats.  Flat  Mouth  leaned  low  from  his  saddle 
and  did  for  another  beast  with  his  axe.  The  mumbling  broke 
into  a  sullen  roar,  and  the  men  on  the  huts  began  rising  and 
preparing  to  descend. 

Flat  Mouth  pulled  out  his  string  of  Sioux  scalps  and,  waving 
them  above  his  head,  shouted  his  name  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
once  lived  among  the  Mandans  and  the  Minnetarees.  Then  in 
their  own  tongue  he  chanted  nis  record  of  coups,  touching  a 
scalp  as  he  narrated  the  details  of  each  encounter.  The  men  on 
the  huts  gathered  to  the  edge  and  allowed  their  feet  to  hang 
down  while  they  listened. 

Finishing  the  story  of  his  exploits,  the  Pillager  explained  how 
he  was  serving  the  woman  with  the  medicine  hair,  the  most 
wonderful  woman  ever  on  the  Missouri,  whose  father  was  the 
mightiest  of  all  traders  and  who  had  intended  to  build  a  post 
among  the  villages  so  the  Indians  could  always  obtain  whatever 
they  wanted  in  arms  and  ammunition.  He  significantly  con 
cluded  with  saying: 

"The  big  white  chief  will  send  no  traders  where  his  daugh 
ter  is  met  by  mad  dogs  and  screaming  children." 

Then,  turning  to  Miss  Dearness,  he  directed  her  to  reveal 
her  hair. 

She  obeyed,  and  as  the  Indians  stared  at  her  fiery  hair,  those 
on  the  ground  drew  back  and  forgot  their  scowls,  while  those  on 


i66  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

the  huts  stood  erect  and  forgot  their  smoking.  As  the  Pillager 
rapidly  translated  his  speech  to  me  I  understood  their  concern ; 
each  village  was  anxious  to  obtain  all  the  white  man's  goods 
possible  and  was  extremely  jealous  of  every  visit  made  by  a 
trader  to  a  neighbouring  village. 

Their  lack  of  hospitality  was  an  excellent  excuse  for  us  to 
save  time  by  pushing  on.  Although  they  beseeched  us  to  enter 
their  huts  and  partake  of  food  and  tobacco,  we  held  on  steadily 
through  the  village  and  into  the  road  leading  up  the  Knife. 
They  followed  us  outside  the  village  but  we  gave  them  no  heed. 
We  followed  the  road  for  about  a  mile  when  the  Pillager  halted 
and  announced  that  we  were  opposite  the  big  Minnetaree  vil 
lage.  He  said  it  consisted  of  some  hundred  and  thirty  huts, 
but,  rub  my  eyes  as  I  would,  I  could  not  see  it. 

Then  he  explained  this.  The  last  of  the  five  villages  was* 
located  a  mile  back  from  the  river,  and  because  of  this  fact  and 
the  resulting  problem  over  fuel  the  warriors  moved  into  hills 
each  winter,  where  they  had  more  circular  huts  and  wood 
aplenty.  We  forded  the  Knife  with  the  water  up  to  our  horses' 
bellies  and  made  a  dash  for  the  village. 

This  time  we  met  less  of  the  rudeness  which  had  greeted  us 
below,  and  yet  there  was  no  suggestion  of  hospitality.  They 
were  rude  in  another  way.  We  were  ignored.  They  were  most 
arrogant  in  their  bearing.  After  ordering  a  woman  to  show  us 
to  a  big  hut,  set  apart  for  visitors,  they  paid  no  attention  to  us. 
A  physical  characteristic  of  all  Minnetarees  was  the  large 
aquiline  nose.  The  Pillager  assured  us  we  were  safe  among 
them,  but  added  that  this  was  the  case  purely  because  they 
must  have  arms  from  traders  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
Sioux,  and  they  believed  that  we  were  paving  the  way  for  per 
manent  traders.  The  village  originally  contained  a  thousand 
huts,  but  the  deadly  small-pox  had  whittled  it  down  to  its 
present  proportions. 

The  hut  we  were  shown  to  was  a  duplicate  of  the  one  in 
Black  Cat's  village  except  that  it  was  dug  down  three  feet 
below  the  surface.  As  in  the  Mandan  huts  we  found  earthen 
pots  and  a  copper  kettle.  The  kettle,  it  seems,  was  used  entirely 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  167 

for  boiling  meat.  Why  they  couldn't  cook  meat  in  the  earthen 
ware,  as  they  did  their  corn  and  beans,  I  do  not  know.  Some 
foolish  superstition  was  behind  it,  of  course.  I  asked  the 
woman  about  it,  and  she  said  the  meat  would  make  the  earthen 
pots  crack. 

I  quickly  learned  it  was  unsafe  to  move  outside  the  hut  unless 
armed  with  a  club.  The  first  time  I  stepped  to  the  door  to 
survey  the  scene,  I  was  set  upon  by  a  huge  dog.  I  kicked  myself 
clear  of  the  brute  and  after  that  I  never  ventured  abroad  with 
out  a  club  in  my  hand.  So  long  as  we  remained  in  the  hut  we 
were  left  by  ourselves.  The  moment  we  passed  through  the  door 
we  were  surrounded  by  impish  brats  who  would  go  through  our 
clothes  and  filch  anything  they  could.  Miss  Dearness  went  out 
with  us  once,  but  the  repulsive  sights  and  the  constant  attend 
ance  of  the  vicious-mannered  mob  which  accompanied  us  every 
step  was  experience  enough  for  her. 

"You  and  the  Pillager  carry  out  your  plans,"  she  urged  after 
we  returned  to  the  hut.  "But  let  us  start  back  to  the  Mandan 
village  before  dark." 

"It's  a  beastly  place,"  I  admitted,  pitying  her  deeply.  "I  al 
most  wish,  for  your  sake,  we  had  tried  to  win  back  north  with 
out  coming  here.  I  think  we  could  have  made  it." 

"No,  we  stood  no  chance.  The  Sioux  were  too  close,  the 
Assiniboins  too  many.  Our  lives  are  safe  here,  but  we  ought  to 
be  starting  for  the  Red  River  within  a  day  or  two."  After  a 
pause  she  asked,  "When  do  you  think  Le  Borgne  will  come?" 

"Not  till  after  we  have  gone.     You  have  heard  of  him  ?" 

"My  father  spoke  of  him  when  we  were  on  the  Assiniboin. 
The  Indians  had  much  to  tell  of  him.  But  go  and  finish  your 
business  so  we  can  be  getting  away." 

The  undercurrent  of  her  thoughts  was  Le  Borgne,  that  sin 
ister  master  of  the  Minnetarees,  who  ruled  as  an  autocrat,  an 
unusual  condition  of  affairs  among  the  Indians.  I  did  not  care 
to  ask  her  what  she  had  heard  about  the  chief ;  it  was  sure  to  be 
something  disquieting.  I  picked  up  my  club  and,  followed  by 
Flat  Mouth,  passed  from  the  hut. 

We  had  a  brisk  battle  with  the  dogs  but  finally  put  them  to 


i68  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

rout.  Young  bucks  swaggered  close,  glaring  murderously  at  our 
success  over  their  pets.  One  was  so  bold  as  to  step  before  the 
Pillager  to  block  his  path,  or  to  make  him  step  aside.  Flat 
Mouth  slapped  him  in  the  face  with  his  string  of  Sioux  scalps, 
called  him  a  "child,"  and  asked  how  long  before  he  could 
grow  up  and  kill  a  Sioux. 

The  buck,  maddened  beyond  self-control  and  knowing  the 
warriors  were  watching  his  shame,  grabbed  for  his  axe.  Flat 
Mouth  smiled  evilly  and  dangled  the  string  before  his  face. 
The  hand  on  the  axe  relaxed.  I  was  using  the  medicine  bag 
taken  from  the  war-chief  killed  in  the  Red  Lake  River  country, 
as  a  tobacco  pouch.  Now  I  produced  it,  filled  my  pipe  and 
through  the  Pillager  advised  the  young  man  and  his  friend  not 
to  bother  mighty  warriors  who  never  bothered  to  slay  any  but 
chiefs  carrying  the  pipe. 

The  display  of  scalps  and  the  sight  of  the  medicine  pouch 
brought  the  elders  to  sharp  attention.  Several  approached,  their 
bearing  very  decorous,  and  questioned  the  Pillager.  He  proudly 
proclaimed  himself  a  hero  and  gave  his  new  name  of  Sioux 
Killer.  He  declared  I  came  next  to  him  and  said  the  white 
woman  with  the  medicine  hair  was  more  powerful  than  both 
of  us. 

The  lowering  glances  continued,  yet  our  exhibit  of  trophies 
had  made  a  deep  impression  and  forced  their  respect.  Their 
great  chief,  Le  Borgne,  would  have  been  proud  to  recite  the 
coups  the  Pillager  had  recounted.  Harsh  commands  were  given, 
and  the  band  of  children  drew  back,  the  young  men  ceased  their 
insolence,  and  women  clubbed  the  dogs  to  the  outskirts  of  the 
village. 

Then  Le  Borgne's  brother,  Caltahcota,  or  Choke-cherry,  as 
the  traders  knew  him,  deigned  to  make  himself  known  and  in 
quired  minutely  into  the  purpose  of  our  visit.  He  was  pleased 
with  the  story  I  told  through  the  Pillager,  and  said  his  brother 
would  be  very  glad  to  welcome  us,  but  that  we  had  done  wrong 
in  not  bringing  guns,  powder  and  ball  with  us,  as  the  Sioux 
were  very  thick  and  troublesome  around  the  village. 

The  Pillager  sneered  and  loudly  declared  he  would  drive  the 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  169 

Sioux  away  and  double  the  length  of  his  string.  Choke-cherry 
seemed  to  accept  him  at  his  own  estimation,  and  his  respect  took 
on  a  touch  of  awe.  He  insisted  we  go  into  his  hut  and  eat. 

We  followed  him  and  were  presented  with  bowls  of  meat 
that  only  one  word  can  describe — putrid.  Even  for  politeness' 
sake  I  could  not  endure  the  stench  of  it,  let  alone  tasting  it. 
Choke-cherry  gobbled  at  it  voraciously  and  gave  us  some  dried 
beans  and  corn,  bruised  in  a  mortar,  cooked  without  salt,  and 
very  tasteless.  Still  it  could  be  swallowed.  Flat  Mouth  was 
not  particular  as  to  what  he  ate,  yet  there  were  limits  to  even 
his  Indian  appetite  and  stomach.  He  partook  only  of  the  corn 
and  beans.  While  we  were  bolting  our  portions  he  assured  me 
that  the  Minnetarees  would  kill  a  buffalo  in  winter,  leave  it  in 
the  snow  and  wait  until  decomposition  had  set  in  before  using 
it  for  food.  I  could  well  believe  it. 

Escaping  to  the  free  air,  I  asked  Choke-cherry  when  his 
mighty  brother  would  be  back.  He  believed  in  a  few  days.  He 
was  very  vague,  indicating  he  knew  no  more  about  it  than  we 
did.  The  six  Cheyenne  envoys  had  withdrawn  a  mile  north 
of  the  village  to  await  the  coming  of  more  of  their  people- 
Upon  their  arrival  the  treaty  between  them  and  the  Minne 
tarees  would  be  duly  cemented.  The  Minnetarees  would  adopt 
a  Cheyenne  youth  and  many  presents  would  be  "placed  under 
the  stem."  While  Le  Borgne  was  too  big  a  man  to  abandon  a 
hunting  trip  for  any  purpose  except  to  follow  his  own  will,  it 
was  probable  he  would  return  very  soon. 

With  the  Pillager  interpreting  I  said: 

"We  must  go  back  to  the  lower  villages  to-night.  When  your 
brother  comes  send  a  man  to  us  so  we  may  come  to  him." 

He  urged  that  we  remain  with  the  Minnetarees  indefinitely, 
but  I  explained  we  had  certain  trade  preparations  to  make,  and 
he  finally  agreed  to  inform  us  when  the  chief  arrived. 

Utterly  disgusted  with  the  villages,  determined  to  get  away 
where  I  could  feel  clean  once  more,  and  sensing  that  it  must 
be  hell  for  Miss  Dearness,  I  made  up  my  mind  on  the  spot  to 
make  a  break  north  from  the  Mandan  village  early  the  next 
morning.  Fear  of  the  Sioux  would  keep  the  village  Indians 


170  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

from  pursuing  us,  while  the  presence  of  the  Cheyennes  on  the 
Knife,  anxious  to  make  peace,  would  tend  to  make  both  Sioux 
and  Assiniboins  chary  about  remaining  in  that  neighbourhood. 

The  Mandans,  while  peacefully  disposed  and  much  less  arro 
gant  than  the  Minnetarees,  were  known  as  dogged  fighters, 
Allied  with  the  Cheyennes,  they  could  carry  a  good  fight  to  the 
Sioux,  and  the  latter  knew  it.  By  striking  directly  north  and 
travelling  much  by  night  I  believed  we  could  make  the  big  loop 
of  the  Mouse.  After  following  the  Mouse  a  short  distance  we 
would  be  within  the  sphere  of  influence  of  the  N.  W.  company, 
represented  by  Fort  Assiniboin,  and  our  dangers  from  hostile 
red  men  would  be  over.  Nor  did  I  expect  any  difficulty  in  leav 
ing  the  Mandan  village.  We  had  come  and  gone  as  we  pleased, 
our  story  was  believed,  and  we  had  visited  the  Minnetaree 
village  to  consult  with  Le  Borgne's  brother. 

Leaving  Choke-cherry — Cherry-on-a-Bush  was  his  full  name, 
I  believe — we  returned  to  the  hut  and  found  Miss  Dearness 
seated  on  a  robe  before  the  empty  fire-hole  and  looking  very  sad. 
I  briefly  explained  my  purpose,  and  it  was  worth  great  risks  to 
behold  the  wonderful  lighting  up  of  the  blue  eyes  as  she  turned 
them  on  me. 

'"It  will  succeed!"  she  cried  in  English.  "It  must!  Oh, 
you've  removed  a  big  load  from  my  heart.  To  be  out  in  the 
open — to  breathe  clean  air  again — anything  but  this  !" 

"YouVe  seen  so  much  of  Indian  life  in  travelling  with  your 
father  that  you  must  be  prepared  to  withstand  what  would 
shock  an  inexperienced  white  woman,"  I  remarked. 

"True,"  she  murmured.  "I  can  force  myself  to  indifference 
to  much  that's  repulsive — a  make-believe  indifference,  anyway. 
I've  said  the  Indians  talked  of  Le  Borgne  on  the  Assiniboin. 
I've  also  heard  the  H.  B.  men  describe  him  in  talking  with  my 
father.  He  likes  to  meet  white  men.  He  treats  them  better 
than  his  warriors  do.  He's  shrewd  enough  to  know  he  must 
have  arms,  and  he  can  get  them  only  through  the  white  traders. 
From  the  Indian  standpoint  he  is  a  very  great  man.  Yes,  he's 
that  even  by  our  standards.  He  controls  these  villages  abso 
lutely,  and  you  know  how  dearly  an  Indian  prizes  his  personal 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  171 

liberty.  Le  Borgne  overrides  many  hard-and-fast  rules  of  ordi 
nary  Indian  usage.  What  he  wants  he  takes." 

Her  face  went  red  as  she  finished;  then  the  colour  receded, 
leaving  her  cheeks  a  ghastly  white,  and  her  hand  fumbled  at 
something  inside  her  leather  coat,  probably  her  knife. 

"You  understand  him  as  well  as  the  Pillager  does,"  I  gravely 
commented.  "Perhaps  it's  best  you  should." 

"The  truth  is  always  best,"  she  simply  replied.  "The  fact  is 
there.  It  would  be  foolish  to  hide  from  it  as  a  calf  hides  his 
head  in  the  grass  to  escape  a  hunter." 

Flat  Mouth,  who  had  listened  and  picked  up  a  word  herd 
and  there,  now  broke  in: 

"When  I  was  here  last,  Le  Borgne  would  go  into  a  hut  and 
take  a  warrior's  wife  away  from  him.  The  warrior  never  made 
any  fight.  Le  Borgne  is  a  great  chief." 

His  lack  of  finesse  in  making  the  brutal  speech  would  have 
angered  me  more  if  I  did  not  believe  the  girl  knew  all  that  he 
knew.  She  glanced  with  a  curious  little  smile  and  quietly  said — 

"Well,  he  will  never  take  me." 

"What  nonsense!  Of  course  not!"  I  cried  hotly.  "To  hear 
us  one  would  think  this  raw  savage  was  all-powerful.  Then 
again,  let's  give  him  credit  for  having  some  sense.  He  wants 
traders  to  come  here  so  he  can  stand  off  the  Sioux.  Is  he  fool 
enough  to  spoil  all  the  chances  for  saving  his  people  from  the 
Sioux  by  turning  every  trader  against  him?  Of  course  not. 
Miss  Dearness,  you  haven't  any  cause  to  worry." 

She  reached  out  and  patted  my  hand  and  murmured — 

"Comforter!"  Then  she  reminded — "Yet  there  is  some  dan 
ger,  so  great  that  you  plan  to  return  to  the  Mouse  without  an 
escort." 

She  had  me.  In  all  honesty  I  insisted  our  proposed  flight 
was  impelled  by  idle  fears,  so  far  as  we  knew.  Beyond  the 
general  character  of  Le  Borgne  we  had  no  reason  for  deducing 
he  would  bring  down  the  wrath  of  the  American  Government 
upon  him  by  stealing  a  white  woman. 

"Tell  that  to  these  Indians  and  they  will  laugh  at  you,"  she 
jeered.  "You  can't  make  them  believe  but  what  they  are  the 


172  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

most  superior  and  the  most  brave  people  on  earth.  There  may 
come  a  time  when  your  Government  can  control  them.  Now 
they  have  no  more  respect  for  or  fear  of  your  Government  than 
that  of  China,  which  they  never  heard  of.  Why,  they  even 
believe  they  outnumber  the  whites.  Tell  them  of  big  white 
villages  beyond  the  Mississippi,  and  they  will  tell  you  that  you 
lie.  I've  travelled  enough  with  my  father  and  have  heard 
enough  trade-talk  to  know  at  least  that  much." 

I  had  to  admit  the  truth  of  her  statements  and  shifted  to  the 
contention  that  the  chief's  imperative  need  of  guns  would 
come  first  in  his  heart.  He  might  laugh  at  the  United  States 
Government  as  a  shadowy  thing,  but  he  would  never  laugh  at 
the  Sioux  and  a  powerful  trading  company.  Believing  we  all 
three  represented  the  N.  W.  company,  he  would  be  anxious  for 
us  to  carry  back  pleasant  reports  and  thereby  hasten  the  estab 
lishment  of  a  permanent  post. 

"And  yet  you  plan  to  escape  at  the  earliest  opportunity — to 
morrow  morning  if  we  can  manage  it,"  she  monotonously  re 
minded. 

"We  can  wait  and  see  the  chief  and  have  him  send  an  escort 
with  us,"  I  boldly  declared. 

With  a  little  shudder  she  protested. 

"No !  No !  We  must  start  to-morrow.  Instinct  tells  me  we 
must  do  so.  I  only  wish  we  could  start  now.  I  tell  you  I  am 
afraid,  and  I'm  not  bothered  with  any  silly  imagination.  I  feel 
as  if  something  were  about  to  happen." 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  let  our  friend  here  know  that,  or 
he'll  sit  down  and  sing  his  death  song,  waiting  for  someone  to 
club  him  to  death.  You're  big  medicine  to  him.  So  long  as  he 
can  believe  that,  he  can  do  much." 

"Medicine  Hair  big  medicine,"  murmured  Flat  Mouth, 
catching  at  the  familiar  words,  although  puzzled  by  the  rest  of 
our  talk. 

She  raised  her  head  and  stared  at  us  both  haughtily.  The 
effect  at  once  registered  on  the  Pillager.  Smoothing  out  her 
wonderful  hair,  she  softly  sounded  the  ululating  call  that  car 
ried  the  whispering  of  the  wind  and  the  prattling  of  shallow 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE          173 

rivers.  The  chief  stood  very  straight,  his  head  tipped  back,  his 
nostrils  distended. 

There  was  a  warrior's  ambition  in  his  small  eyes.  If  he  had 
been  disturbed  by  her  downcast  mien  he  was  now  restored  to 
all  his  old-time  strutting  complacency.  He  was  the  chief  of  the 
Pillager  Chippewas.  The  Minnetarees  were  low  dogs  who  lived 
cooped  up  in  a  village  and  ate  stinking  meat.  The  hand  that 
struck  against  his  robe  where  hung  his  scalps  was  itching  for 
more  bloody  work.  Then  the  door  of  the  hut  swung  open,  and 
Choke-cherry  stood  before  us,  blinking  at  the  girl. 

He  was  wearing  a  gorgeous  headgear  made  from  a  turkey- 
cock's  tail,  and  he  seemed  much  puffed  up  with  his  own  impor 
tance.  For  a  few  moments  he  forgot  his  errand  and  stared  at 
Miss  Dearness  and  her  lustrous  hair.  With  an  effort  he  recalled 
his  business  and,  in  a  loud  voice,  began  reciting.  As  he  talked 
he  pounded  his  chest  and  glanced  from  me  to  the  girl  and  then 
to  the  impassive  Pillager.  When  he  had  finished  the  Pillager 
explained  that  the  messenger  sent  to  inform  Le  Borgne  of  the 
Cheyennes'  presence  at  the  village  had  found  the  great  chief  a 
short  distance  up  the  Knife.  But,  being  a  great  chief,  it  did  not 
please  his  fancy  to  quit  the  hunt,  even  for  making  the  peace 
treaty.  Accordingly  he  had  sent  the  messenger  back  with  direc 
tions  for  his  brother,  the  renowned  and  redoubtable  Choke- 
cherry,  to  treat  with  the  Cheyennes  and  to  adopt  the  Cheyenne 
youth. 

These  delegated  powers  had  swollen  Choke-cherry's  conceit 
almost  to  the  exploding  point.  Out  of  five  brothers  to  Le 
Borgne  he  had  been  picked.  He  had  sent  word  to  the  Cheyenne 
camp  that  he  was  coming  to  act  for  his  illustrious  brother  and, 
to  give  more  tone  to  the  ceremony,  he  desired  his  new  friends 
to  be  present. 

Miss  Dearness's  face  remained  cold  and  proud,  but  her  soul 
was  on  her  lips  when  she  whispered  to  me: 

"Thank  God,  he  isn't  coming.  You  two  go,  and  I  will 
wait  here." 

On  being  informed  of  our  decision,  Choke-cherry  violently 
objected.  He  needed  the  medicine  of  her  hair,  he  said.  Never 


174  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

had  the  Cheyennes  seen  such  hair.  Her  attendance  was  abso 
lutely  necessary,  he  insisted. 

"You'd  better  come,"  I  urged  after  Flat  Mouth  had  inter 
preted.  "It  will  give  us  better  standing  with  them.  We  can 
ride  directly  from  the  ceremony  to  the  lower  village." 

"If  you  think  best,"  she  surrendered,  rising  and  gathering  up 
her  capote. 

Choke-cherry  had  had  small  chance  to  wear  the  purple,  I 
took  it,  and  his  dignity  and  conceit  were  terrific.  As  Choke- 
cherry,  the  warriors  would  have  laughed  at  him ;  as  the  mouth 
piece  of  his  illustrious  brother,  his  orders  were  obeyed  with  great 
celerity.  Our  horses  were  brought  to  the  hut,  and  the  buck 
who  acted  as  hostler  did  not  even  pause  to  beg  for  the  usual 
piece  of  trade  tobacco.  We  found  the  village  humming  with 
unusual  activity,  and  Choke-cherry,  every  few  rods,  halted  his 
pony  and  hoarsely  harangued  the  people.  These  speeches  had  no 
point,  I  deduced  from  Flat  Mouth's  grim  smile  of  contempt,  but 
they  killed  the  time  which  I  believed  to  be  precious. 

Finally  we  were  ready  and  rode  beside  Choke-cherry  at  the 
head  of  two  hundred  or  more  mounted  warriors.  They  had 
decorated  their  ponies  with  white  and  red  earth,  some  showing 
white  or  red  hand-prints  to  advertise  that  their  riders  had  grap 
pled  bare-handed  with  an  enemy.  Others  were  marked  with 
stripes. 

The  riders,  too,  were  painted,  but  they  would  have  been 
very  ferocious  to  behold  even  without  any  colouring,  for  the 
majority  of  them  showed  wide  welts  in  the  flesh,  produced  by 
pushing  an  arrow-head  along  under  the  skin.  Many  had  several 
of  these  hideous  ridges  running  from  the  hand  to  the  shoulder 
and  then  down  on  the  chest,  where  they  ended  in  a  series  of 
circles.  Nearly  all  had  scalps  hanging  from  their  bridles  or  from 
the  handles  of  their  axes  and  spears.  The  women,  also  mounted, 
brought  up  the  rear.  These  were  uniformly  tattooed  with  broad 
lines  from  the  nose  to  the  ears,  and  from  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  down  to  the  throat. 

As  we  galloped  along  behind  Choke-cherry,  Flat  Mouth 
festooned  his  scalps  down  the  front  of  his  robe,  while  I  hung 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE          175 

the  Sioux  medicine  pouch  on  my  breast.  Several  groups  of  young 
men  now  swung  in  ahead  of  us,  riding  ten  abreast  and  chanting 
their  war-songs  and  sounding  their  rattles.  Choke-cherry  pro 
duced  the  ceremonial  pipe  from  a  case  carried  across  his  saddle, 
and  held  it  high  in  one  hand  so  that  it  could  not  touch  his  horse. 

Now,  while  we  went  in  superior  numbers  to  sign  a  peace  pact, 
yet  we  moved  in  a  compact  body  as  if  fearing  an  attack.  Nor 
was  this  because  of  any  ceremony.  We  were  afraid  of  an  attack. 
Word  was  given  for  the  young  men  to  cease  racing  their  ponies 
and  stay  close  with  the  main  body,  and  more  than  one  of  the 
gun-bearers  saw  that  his  piece  was  properly  primed  and  slipped 
an  extra  ball  into  his  mouth. 

When,  within  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  Cheyenne 
camp,  a  score  of  warriors  came  racing  out  to  meet  us,  on  horse 
flesh  that  was  far  superior  t&  anything  the  Minnetarees  owned, 
their  animals*  heads  were  cunningly  concealed  in  masks  repre 
senting  buffalo  and  red  deer  heads.  The  riders  were  all  young 
men  and  they  rode  up  to  us,  shook  hands  and  cried  out  greetings 
in  their  own  language. 

On  beholding  Miss  Dearness  they  seemed  strangely  affected 
and  lost  much  of  their  noisy  manner.  Plat  Mouth  and  his 
decorations  also  impressed  them,  although  he  wore  none  of  the 
finery  the  Minnetarees  were  displaying.  But  he  had  the  proof 
of  having  been  at  hand-grips  with  the  Sioux. 

As  they  galloped  back  to  their  camp  they  repeatedly  turned 
to  gaze  at  us.  Choke-cherry  took  all  this  to  his  own  credit,  but 
I  knew  it  was  the  girl  and  her  vivid  hair  that  attracted  these 
backward  glances.  She,  too,  was  moved  by  the  stirring  spectacle, 
and  her  blue  eyes  flashed  and  sparkled  and  roamed  back  and 
forth  to  take  in  all  the  details  of  the  lively  panorama.  For 
the  moment  she  was  forgetting  the  filth  and  the  annoyance  and 
was  beholding  only  the  barbaric  grace  of  the  riders,  and  the 
pictorial  rioting  of  colours. 

Choke-cherry,  the  old  wind-bag,  now  halted  the  long  line  and 
rode  from  front  to  rear,  pausing  every  rod  to  spout  and  roar 
his  orders,  determined  to  live  his  brief  authority  to  the  limit. 
He  lectured  them  on  the  virtue  of  keeping  their  finery  unsoiled, 


1 76  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

so  as  to  do  honour  to  their  tribe.  He  exhorted  them  to  carry 
themselves  carefully,  so  as  to  give  no  offence  and  spoil  the  peace. 
He  severely  scolded  a  band  of  Mandans,  who  rode  at  one  side 
and  out  of  line.  Flat  Mouth  said  the  Mandans  had  to  stand 
much  overbearing  conduct  from  their  allies,  but  added  that, 
aside  from  Le  Borgne,  no  Minnetaree  ventured  beyond  certain 
limits. 

Because  of  Choke-cherry's  love  for  speech-making  I  feared  we 
would  never  make  the  camp  and  have  the  ceremony  of  adoption 
done  with,  but  fortunately  a  great  war-chief  of  the  Cheyennes 
now  dashed  out  to  meet  us  on  a  white  stallion  and  put  an  end 
to  our  leader's  mouthing.  This  man  was  a  magnificent  specimen. 
He  wore  a  blue  coat,  procured  in  trade  with  the  Spaniards 
through  some  of  the  southern  tribes,  and  a  gaily-striped  blanket. 
He  all  but  rode  us  down  and  had  his  horse's  hoofs  pawing  the 
air  over  my  head  in  a  most  disconcerting  manner. 

He  shook  hands  with  me  and  Miss  Dearness,  at  whom  he 
stared  overlong,  and  with  the  Pillager.  Choke-cherry,  who  was 
a  few  hundred  feet  behind  us,  now  galloped  up  and  fussily 
took  over  the  management  of  the  situation.  The  chief  shook 
hands  with  him  cordially,  but  his  gaze  alternated  between  the 
girl's  hair  and  the  stern  cold  face  of  the  Pillager  with  his  wealth 
of  Sioux  hair.  The  business  of  handshaking  done  with,  he  fell 
back,  and  a  large  number  of  his  men  rode  forward  and  mingled 
with  the  Minnetarees  and  Mandans,  shaking  hands  and  shout 
ing  a  welcome. 

At  a  signal  from  their  chief  the  Cheyennes  fell  into  long  lines 
with  a  military  precision  and  galloped  to  their  camp.  We  fol 
lowed  at  a  sedate  pace.  When  we  arrived,  the  chief  and  several 
of  the  older  men  rode  back  and  forth  through  the  camp,  remind 
ing  their  people  that  the  Minnetarees  were  their  friends,  that 
they  were  to  be  fed  and  protected  from  thieves.  There  were  a 
hundred  leather  tents  in  the  camp,  white  as  snow  and  set  in  a 
horseshoe  with  the  opening  toward  the  north.  The  speech  of  the 
Cheyennes  is  much  more  pleasing  to  the  ear  than  that  of  the 
Mandans  or  Minnetarees  and  reminded  me  much  of  our  north 
ern  Crees. 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE          177 

Thus  far  all  had  gone  smoothly.  Then,  like  a  bolt,  a  band  of 
Cheyennes  darted  from  their  camp  and  rode  like  mad  along 
our  back  trail.  At  first  I  supposed  this  to  be  one  of  their  grace 
ful  manoeuvres,  but  quickly  perceived  by  Choke-cherry's  excite 
ment  that  something  unusual  was  up.  He  yelped  to  his  warriors 
and  two-score  wheeled  their  horses  and  started  on  a  course 
parallel  to  that  of  the  Cheyennes. 

I  rode  up  a  low  hill  to  discover  the  trouble  and  beheld  two 
horsemen  desperately  riding  to  meet  the  Minnetarees  before  the 
Cheyennes  could  get  to  them.  Behind  me  both  the  Cheyenne 
camp  and  the  body  of  Minnetarees  were  in  a  boiling  commotion. 
The  women  accompanying  our  party  were  hurriedly  getting  the 
horses  to  the  rear.  Choke-cherry  was  bleating  madly.  Flat 
Mouth  and  Miss  Dearness  galloped  to  join  me. 

"Be  ready!  We  may  have  to  ride  fast  from  here.  If  we  do 
we  will  strike  for  the  Mouse  without  going  back  to  the  Mandan 
village,"  said  the  Pillager. 

I  asked  for  an  explanation.  He  pointed  to  the  two  horsemen, 
now  inside  the  double  line  of  Minnetarees.  I  looked  and  recog 
nized  the  head-dress  of  buffalo  horns. 

"Assiniboins !"  I  cried.  "Why  don't  the  Minnetarees  kill 
them?" 

"They  came  into  the  village.  They  can  not  be  harmed.  The 
Cheyennes  are  their  deadly  enemies.  Knowing  the  Minnetarees 
are  stronger  to-day  than  the  Cheyennes,  they  foolishly  followed 
them  out  here.  The  Cheyennes  want  to  kill  them.  The  Minne 
tarees  say  they  shall  not  be  hurt.  Instead  of  peace  we  may  have 
a  battle.  If  that  happens  we  will  ride  for  it." 

Now  the  Minnetarees  were  returning,  the  two  Assiniboins  in 
their  midst.  The  Cheyennes  shouted  furiously  and  gesticu 
lated  with  their  weapons  as  they  demanded  the  surrender  of 
the  newcomers.  Choke-cherry  rode  up  to  the  Cheyenne  chief 
and  asked  him  to  call  his  young  men  back.  The  chief  offered 
ten  of  his  best  horses  for  the  Assiniboins,  and  there  was  no 
logical  reason — the  dictates  of  humanity  aside,  of  which  the 
Minnetarees  knew  nothing — why  the  intruders  should  not  have 
been  given  up.  But  according  to  the  Indian  reasoning  the  two 


1 78  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

were  safe  once  they  entered  the  village  and  so  long  as  they 
remained  in  the  village.  As  almost  all  the  village  had  gone  to 
visit  the  Cheyennes  the  Assiniboins  followed  our  road  and 
were  held  to  be,  theoretically,  still  in  the  village  and  entitled 
to  protection. 

It  was  a  curious  example  of  the  power  of  custom.  The 
Minnetarees  were  determined  to  protect  the  two  hostile  Indians 
even  if  it  cost  them  the  friendship  of  the  Cheyennes.  The  men 
were  finally  brought  well  within  our  lines,  thrust  into  a  small 
tent  and  told  to  keep  out  of  sight.  Next  followed  an  hour  of 
vehement  speech-making.  At  last  the  Cheyennes  said  they 
would  get  their  chance  later.  Choke-cherry  was  nervous  and 
uneasy  and  at  once  began  preparing  for  the  ceremony. 

Miss  Dearness  became  so  deeply  interested.in  the  Assiniboins 
that  I  made  some  comment  upon  it.  She  replied: 

"They  were  with  those  who  drove  us  down  here.  They  are 
spies.  They  came  to  learn  if  we  were  here,  and  when  we  are 
likely  to  go.  Their  main  body  is  in  hiding  somewhere  near." 

"They  must  not  go  back  to  tell  what  they've  learned,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  not  murder,"  she  protested. 

"Self-defence,"  I  grimly  qualified. 

I  turned  to  the  Pillager  and  found  him  perfectly  composed. 
He  said  he  had  known  the  moment  he  beheld  the  two,  that 
their  errand  on  the  Kbife  concerned  us. 

I  said  to  the  girl: 

"It's  very  simple.  I'll  get  word  to  the  Cheyennes  to  watch 
the  two  and  bag  them  if  they  leave  the  village.  Flat  Mouth 
shall  tell  them,  as  he  talks  the  sign  language." 

"But  the  war-party  outside  waiting  to  catch  us?"  she  mur 
mured. 

"Flat  Mouth  shall  tell  of  that,  too.  The  Cheyennes  shall 
go  and  drive  them  away." 

I  began  to  feel  rather  obliged  to  the  two  fellows  for  coming 
in  and  revealing  the  unsuspected  danger. 

So  far  as  I  could  observe,  the  wrangling  over  the  Assiniboins 
terminated  without  any  obvious  gain  made  by  either  side  except 
that  the  Minnetarees  kept  the  two  Indians  alive.  With  the  dis- 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE          179 

sension  smoothed  away,  next  came  the  ceremony  of  completing 
the  treaty.  The  terms  were  simple  and  accepted  by  both  tribes. 
The  alliance  was  to  wage  war  on  the  Sioux  and  their  allies. 
Choke-cherry,  by  formally  adopting  a  Cheyenne  youth  as  his 
son,  would  be  creating  binding  ties  between  the  tribes.  The 
Cheyennes,  however,  were  reluctant  to  proceed  with  the  busi 
ness. 

Flat  Mouth  got  hold  of  a  Mandan  and  learned  the  Chey 
ennes  were  angry  that  Le  Borgne  did  not  consider  the  treaty  of 
enough  importance  to  be  present.  It  had  only  needed  the  inci 
dent  of  the  Assiniboins  to  bring  this  resentment  to  the  sur 
face.  The  medicine  tent  was  not  up,  nor  had  they  formed  a 
smaller  ceremonial  horseshoe  of  the  white  leather  tents.  After 
much  arguing  and  oratory  the  medicine  tent  was  finally  erected. 

Choke-cherry  made  a  long-winded  speech  and  called  to  him 
Two  Crows,  a  Minnetaree  chief,  and  gave  to  him  the  long 
pipe-stem  he  had  so  carefully  guarded  from  being  profaned  by 
touching  his  horse.  This  stem  was  adorned  with  feathers,  and 
Two  Crows,  in  accepting  it,  danced  grotesquely  back  and  forth, 
while  two  young  Minnetarees  beat  on  a  drum  and  rattled  ante 
lope  hoofs  together. 

After  a  certain  amount  of  prancing,  came  the  ceremonial  visit 
to  the  tent  of  the  Cheyenne  who  was  to  be  adopted.  Two 
Crows  went  ahead  with  his  thudding  dance-step,  and  behind 
him  danced  the  men  with  the  drum  and  the  hoofs.  We  fol 
lowed  with  Choke-cherry.  At  Choke-cherry's  command  three 
horses  were  brought  along.  Several  pegs  were  pulled  out,  and 
the  flaps  of  the  tent  drawn  back  so  that  the  horses  could  be  led 
inside.  The  three  halters  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  a  very 
sullen  looking  young  man  who  was  seated  opposite  the  entrance. 
Two  Crows  danced  up  and  offered  him  the  sacred  stem.  To 
the  consternation  of  Choke-cherry  the  stem  was  haughtily  waved 
aside.  Choke-cherry  tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  he  would  not 
come  out  of  his  sulks. 

The  situation  was  growing  serious.  Flat  Mouth  gained  the 
side  of  the  Cheyenne  war-chief,  who  was  sardonically  watching 
Choke-cherry's  embarrassment,  and  talked  rapidly  with  one 


i8o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

hand  masked  by  his  robe.  Only  the  chief  could  read  his  talk, 
and,  as  he  comprehended,  his  eyes  darted  fire.  Striding  to  the 
young  man  he  spoke  in  his  ear,  whereat  the  stem  was  accepted. 
Choke-cherry  and  Two  Crows  now  took  him  by  the  arms  and 
led  him  to  the  medicine-tent  and  seated  him  beside  some  new  red 
strouds — coarse  blankets.  Choke-cherry  sat  on  his  right  and 
Two  Crows  on  his  left.  The  musicians  continued  their  efforts, 
and  a  figure  danced  in  with  the  head  of  a  buffalo  on  his  shoul 
ders,  the  nostrils  and  mouth  of  which  were  stuffed  with  dried 
grass.  He  placed  the  skull  of  a  bull  on  the  ground  opposite  the 
Cheyenne. 

Now  came  the  gift-making,  and  again  the  Cheyennes  held 
back.  Some  of  the  Minnetarees  brought  ammunition  and  placed 
it  on  the  strouds,  and  the  Cheyenne  held  the  stem  over  it.  Two 
Crows  rose  and  addressed  the  Cheyennes,  urging  them  to  bring 
something  to  put  under  the  stem.  After  much  waiting  three 
warriors  brought  in  a  few  robes  and  some  dressed  leather  and 
piled  them  on  the  ammunition.  This  encouraged  the  Minne 
tarees,  and  they  gave  three  guns.  The  Cheyennes  came  back 
with  three  poor  ponies.  Choke-cherry  growled  and  grunted  in 
great  wrath,  and  his  followers  brought  two  more  guns  and  some 
corn  and  beans.  This  resulted  in  another  sore-backed  nag  from 
the  visitors. 

i  Then  did  Choke-cherry  explode  and  demand  what  the  Chey 
ennes  meant  by  putting  worthless  creatures  under  the  stem 
when  the  Minnetarees  were  giving  good  guns  and  powder  and 
ball.  The  Cheyennes  replied  they  would  bring  good  horses 
when  more  guns  were  put  under  the  stem. 

Choke-cherry  forgot  diplomacy  and  roundly  accused  the 
Cheyennes  of  plotting  to  induce  the  Minnetarees  to  give  up 
their  weapons  so  that  they  might  be  helpless  before  an  attack. 
This  accusation  of  treachery  was  "immediately  followed  by  the 
Cheyennes  hurrying  back  to  the  tents.  We  waited,  thinking 
they  were  gone  to  bring  more  ponies.  Then  the  warriors  out 
side  the  medicine  tent  began  calling  out  loudly,  and  we  ran 
after  Choke-cherry  and  Two  Crows  and  beheld  the  Cheyennes 
striking  their  tents  and  preparing  to  ride  off. 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  181 

The  young  man  who  was  to  have  been  adopted  galloped  by 
us,  riding  one  of  the  gift  nags,  leading  the  others  and  carrying 
the  guns  and  ammunition.  More  than  one  bow  was  drawn 
taut  as  he  flew  by,  but  Choke-cherry,  although  convulsed  with 
rage,  knew  better  than  to  let  war  come  while  his  brother  was 
absent,  and  his  stern  commands,  liberally  mixed  with  mention 
of  his  brother's  name,  saved  the  young  man's  life. 

The  Cheyennes  rode  off  in  a  body.  The  peace  treaty  had 
fallen  through  because  of  the  Assiniboins.  Yet  the  Minne- 
tarees  did  not  seem  to  attribute  any  blame  to  them  and  treated 
them  kindly  as  we  rode  back  to  the  village.  Before  arriving 
at  the  huts  Choke-cherry  turned  toward  the  river,  a  mile  away. 
On  reaching  it  he  directed  Two  Crows  to  bring  a  white  buffalo 
hide.  Flat  Mouth  explained  to  me  and  the  girl  that  Choke- 
cherry  feared  he  had  handled  the  peace  treaty  badly  and  antic 
ipated  his  brother's  anger.  To  guard  against  this  he  now 
proposed  to  sacrifice  a  precious  white  robe.  Such  a  hide,  as 
I  have  remarked  before,  is  the  most  highly  valued  by  the  Min- 
netarees  of  all  their  possessions.  I  could  understand  how  the 
chief's  brother  was  considerably  worked  up. 

Two  Crows  came  galloping  back,  not  with  a  whole  hide,  for 
that  was  a  liberality  that  even  the  gods  had  no  right  to  expect, 
but  a  long  strip.  This  seemed  to  answer  perfectly,  however, 
and  was  soon  placed  in  a  deep  hole  in  the  river  and  weighted 
down  with  rocks.  Choke-cherry  then  made  a  long  speech  in 
which  he  said  he  knew  what  wras  to  blame  for  the  Cheyennes' 
behaviour,  which  he  promised  to  duly  report  to  his  brother. 
Having  done  all  he  could  to  placate  his  gods,  he  morosely  led 
the  way  home. 

"You  talked  with  the  Cheyenne  chief?"  I  murmured  to  Flat 
Mouth. 

"He  is  Red  Arrow,  a  brave  warrior.  He  will  wait  three 
days  to  go  with  us  to  the  Mouse." 

"Why  is  he  willing  to  do  that  ?"  I  curiously  asked. 

"He  knows  I  will  pay  him.  He  will  make  a  good  trade," 
was  the  evasive  answer. 

Choke-cherry  halted  at  the  first  hut  and,  as  we  rode  up,  he 


182  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

glared  at  me  viciously  and  shouted  something.  The  Pillager 
interpreted — 

"I  know  what  stopped  me  from  making  peace  with  the  Chey- 
ennes." 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"Bad  medicine." 

"What  was  the  medicine?"  I  knew  what  he  would  say  before 
he  spoke. 

"The  hair  of  the  white  woman,"  he  grunted,  switching  his 
malignant  gaze  to  Miss  Dearness. 

I  warmly  replied  he  was  a  fool  and  some  other  things,  and 
that  no  treaty  would  be  made  with  the  Minnetarees  when  they 
took  the  Assiniboin  snakes  along  with  them. 

"My  brother  is  a  very  wise  man.  We  shall  see,"  he  replied 
as  he  rode  away. 

The  girl  had  interpreted  his  look  and  had  heard  Flat  Mouth's 
Chippewa  translation,  and  her  hand  was  cold  as  ice  as  she  rode 
closer  and  placed  it  on  mine  and  whispered — 

"It  all  comes  back — my  fear." 

"Don't  you  worry  a  bit,"  I  soothed.  "We'll  get  out  of  here 
flying  inside  of  twelve  hours." 

In  my  heart,  however,  a  deadly  chill  was  growing. 

It  was  now  dusk,  and  after  leaving  our  ponies  at  the  corral, 
I  escorted  Miss  Dearness  to  the  hut  and  lighted  some  bark  in 
the  fire-hole  to  drive  away  the  gloom.  Then  I  told  her  that 
we  had  better  remain  where  we  were  until  morning  as  the  ride 
down  the  river  would  be  dangerous.  Surrounding  the  village 
were  innumerable  pits,  eight  feet  or  more  deep,  which  the  women 
filled  with  corn  and  beans  each  fall.  These  were  all  open,  and 
to  get  clear  of  the  place  at  night  was  to  risk  a  broken  leg  or 
neck. 

"But  we  must  get  away  to-night,"  she  fiercely  insisted.  "Any 
danger  but  this."  She  waved  her  hand  to  encompass  the  whole 
village.  "You  heard  what  he  said  about  my  medicine  spoiling 
the  treaty.  I  care  nothing  for  that,  but  there  is  another  danger. 
Oh,  Mr.  Franklin,  you've  been  very  good  and  patient  with  me 
— but  get  me  out  of  here  to-night !" 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE          183 

"Very  well,  we'll  go  tonight,  but  we  can't  return  to  the 
Mandans.  We  must  risk  crossing  the  Missouri  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Knife  and  striking  northeast.  If  we  waited  until  to-mor 
row  and  started  from  the  Mandans  we  might  find  a  band  of 
Cheyennes  waiting  to  act  as  escort.  The  chief  told  the  Pillager 
he  would  see  us  to  the  Mouse." 

"I'd  rather  start  from  here  to-night  and  travel  alone  than 
wait  any  longer/'  she  said.  "Perhaps  Flat  Mouth  could  swing 
to  one  side  and  pick  up  the  Cheyennes.  If  not,  then  a  ride  for 
it,  and  a  clean,  quick  death  at  the  worst." 

"There  must  be  no  talk  of  death,"  I  rebuked.  "We'll  go  and 
get  through.  I  was  only  thinking  of  the  difficulties  in  getting 
the  horses  across  the  Missouri,  but  with  a  bull-boat  we  ought  to 
be  able  to  tow  them  over,  one  at  a  time.  Rest  easy  while  I  go 
and  find  the  Pillager  and  arrange  for  him  to  get  the  horses 
from  the  corral." 

I  had  passed  through  the  door,  closed  it,  and  had  heard  the 
heavy  bar  drop  across  it,  when  a  terrific  screech  rang  out  a  few 
huts  away  and  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  The  cry  was 
caught  up  and  repeated.  I  stood  undecided,  my  thumb  resting 
on  the  hammer  of  my  gun.  The  door  opened  back  of  me  and 
she  was  beside  me,  a  hand  resting  on  my  shoulder,  her  head 
tilted  as  she  sought  to  read  my  face  in  the  darkness.  The 
village  was  now  in  an  uproar. 

"The  Cheyennes  must  be  attacking  in  force,"  I  muttered. 

"It's  something  very  serious,"  she  whispered.  "Do  you 
think  you  can  manage  to  get  the  horses  up  here?" 

"Stay  inside!  Let  no  one  in,"  I  said,  stepping  out  and  blun 
dering  between  the  huts,  where  the  path  in  places  was  only  a 
foot  in  width. 

I  passed  between  two  huts  and  bumped  into  an  Indian.  His 
hands  struck  my  chest  to  push  me  aside.  Then  the  Pillager's 
voice  was  whispering — 

"So  it  is  you.    I  knew  the  cloth." 

"What  is  the  trouble?    You've  been  running?" 

The  last  deduction  was  not  because  his  breathing  was  beyond 


i84  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

normal,  but  because  in  clutching  his  wrists  I  felt  his  pulse 
racing. 

"The  Assiniboin  spies  will  not  go  back  to  tell  what  they 
saw  here,"  he  hissed  in  my  ear. 

"Good  God!    You've  killed  them?"  I  muttered. 

"Killed  both.  I  promised  the  Cheyenne  chief  their  scalps  if 
he  would  give  us  warriors  to  go  with  us  to  the  Mouse.  I  told 
you  he  would  make  a  good  trade." 

"But  they'll  be  after  you !"  I  softly  cried. 

"Choke-cherry  thinks  the  Cheyennes  crept  in  and  did  it." 

"It  won't  do  for  you  to  be  seen.  It  might  make  them  suspi 
cious.  Don't  tell  the  white  woman.  Stand  in  front  of  the  hut. 
I  will  bring  up  the  horses.  We  must  cross  the  Missouri  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Knife  and  ride  for  it." 

"The  Cheyennes  will  be  waiting  near  the  Mandan  village," 
he  protested. 

"And  it's  impossible  to  go  down  the  river.  We  would  lose 
too  much  time.  If  the  Minnetarees  chase  us  they  will  take  that 
direction/' 

"Ho!  Eshkebugecoshe,  Chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas, 
needs  no  help  in  saving  the  white  woman  except  the  white 
woman's  medicine." 

He  thumped  his  breast  and  might  have  broken  into  song  if  I 
had  not  quieted  him. 

I  Set  off,  making  my  way  toward  the  centre  of  the  pandemo 
nium  which  seemed  to  focus  around  the  corral.  Lights  were 
now  springing  up  in  the  open  places,  the  naked  children  dancing 
and  piling  on  fuel  and  looking  like  so  many  devil's  whelps. 

Before  I  reached  the  corral  the  village  was  well  illumined.  I 
met  Choke-cherry,  who  bawled  out  something  I  could  not  have 
understood  even  if  I  knew  his  language.  But  as  he  carried  a 
gun  and  had  his  mouth  stuffed  with  balls,  I  assumed  he  was 
expecting  an  attack  from  the  Cheyennes.  He  caught  my  arm 
and  led  me  to  the  door  of  a  hut  and  ordered  the  mob  to  stand 
one  side.  As  the  command  was  obeyed  I  looked  down  a  narrow 
lane  of  humanity  and  beheld  the  two  Assiniboins.  They  had 
been  killed  with  a  knife,  and  both  were  scalped. 


AT  THE  MINNETAREE  VILLAGE  185 

I  slashed  my  fingers  across  my  wrist,  the  sign  for  the  Chey- 
ennes,  and  he  nodded.  He  stopped  to  harangue  the  crowd  and 
I  worked  clear  of  the  shambles  and  hurried  on  to  the  corral. 

I  reached  the  corral  and  was  startled  to  behold  a  line  of 
mounted  men  riding  down  a  slight  rise  and  toward  me,  being 
well  within  the  light  of  the  many  fires.  Although  they  were 
continually  descending  the  rise,  the  head  of  the  line  never 
reached  the  corral.  I  watched  for  a  minute,  greatly  puzzled. 
Then  a  stentorian  voice  rose  with  such  tremendous  volume  as 
to  carry  a  great  distance.  It  was  repeated  several  times  and 
was  answered  from  the  centre  of  the  village.  In  another  mo 
ment  several  Indians  came  running  by  the  corral,  one  of  them 
swinging  a  torch.  I  recognized  Choke-cherry  and  the  Pillager 
in  the  group. 

I  called  out  to  him  and  I  knew  he  heard  me,  yet  he  kept  on 
with  the  others  to  find  the  man  with  the  loud  voice.  Knowing 
he  would  return  when  he  had  finished  his  errand,  I  proceeded 
to  pick  out  our  animals.  As  I  led  them  out  of  the  enclosure 
a  warrior  caught  my  arm  and  pointed  interrogatively  at  the 
nags.  I  pointed  out  toward  the  open  plain  and  then  made  the 
sign  for  Cheyenne  and  indicated  I  was  taking  the  horses  into 
a  hut.  He  nodded  and  hurried  on.  I  started  to  lead  them 
away  and  a  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder,  and  the  Pillager  was 
wrenching  the  halter  ropes  from  my  hands  and  hurriedly  driv 
ing  the  ponies  back  into  the  corral. 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  I  demanded. 

"Bad  medicine  at  work,"  he  gloomily  answered.  "Le  Borgne 
comes  back  from  the  hunt.  Did  you  not  hear  his  voice?  When 
he  heard  the  noise  in  the  village  he  knew  something  was  wrong 
and  has  thrown  a  hundred  of  his  hunters  around  the  village 
with  orders  to  shoot  anyone  trying  to  leave  it.  We  must  stay." 

Without  a  word  I  followed  him  back  through  the  excited 
throngs.  Some  perverse  agency  seemed  to  be  thwarting  us. 
Something  of  the  girl's  strange  fear  began  to  assail  me.  It 
was  not  Le  Borgne,  for  a  ball  from  my  double-barrel  would 
nicely  eliminate  him.  It  was,  rather,  that  the  whole  village 


i86  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

stood  for  ruthless  and  brutal  domination  through  physical 
strength.  When  I  came  to  the  hut,  tapped  on  the  door,  and 
gave  my  name,  I  was  confronting  the  hardest  task  I  had  ever 
encountered. 


CHAPTER  X 

LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST 

I  HAVE  met  many  savage  chiefs,  but  none  who  ranked 
with  Le  Borgne  for  brutality,  implacable  will  power  and 
wisdom.  Not  only  among  his  own  people  did  he  rule  with 
autocratic  decisiveness  and  exhibit  the  power  of  an  absolute 
monarch,  but  among  the  Mandans  also  his  word  was  law.  His 
great  courage,  his  imperturbable  calmness  in  the  stress  of  danger, 
made  him  an  ideal  leader  against  the  Sioux  and  other  hostile 
tribes.  In  any  disputes  betwen  the  Minnetarees  and  their  Man- 
dan  neighbours  his  promptness  in  acting  the  arbiter  with  a  big 
war  axe  made  him  supreme. 

Despite  his  high  quality  of  courage  and  emminent  capacity  for 
leadership,  he  was,  from  the  white  man's  point  of  view,  bestial 
with  his  women.  They  were  his  chattels  and  of  no  more 
account  than  his  dogs.  If  he  were  so  inclined  he  would  murder 
them,  and  no  one  dared  question  the  act.  He  had  slain  more 
than  one  of  his  wives.  He  went  even  further  and  appropriated 
any  matron  or  maid  that  took  his  fancy,  and  this  without  pro 
test  from  husband  or  parent,  an  acquiescence  I  never  found  in 
any  other  Indian  community. 

I  knew  much  of  his  character  by  reputation  and  from  the 
Pillager's  gossip.  What  details  of  his  grim  history  I  lacked  I 
soon  learned  during  my  stay  in  the  village. 

Choke-cherry  brought  the  word  in  the  morning  that  Flat 
Mouth  and  I  were  wanted  by  the  chief.  The  Pillager,  to  make 
himself  fit  for  the  audience,  strung  his  Sioux  scalps  round  his 
neck  and  went  naked  except  for  his  breech-clout.  We  left 
our  weapons  in  the  hut  with  Miss  Dearness,  except  that  Flat 
Mouth  concealed  a  small  knife  in  his  clout.  I  counted  the 

187 


i88  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

scalps  on  his  chest  and  was  relieved  to  find  he  carried  only  the 
Sioux's  hair.  I  asked  him  in  Chippewa,  as  we  stood  one  side, 
what  he  had  done  with  the  Assiniboin  scalps,  but  he  smiled 
and  said  nothing. 

Miss  Dearness  bore  herself  well,  although  she  had  passed  a 
miserable  night  pacing  the  hut  and  making,  as  her  woman  at 
tendant  fully  believed,  some  very  powerful  medicine.  Flat 
Mouth  and  I  had  found  quarters  in  a  hut  near-by  and  had  joined 
the  girl  with  the  first  light.  Now  that  she  knew  we  were  to  meet 
Le  Borgne  she  was  deeply  troubled.  Old  Choke-cherry  never 
would  have  surmised  it  as  she  paced  from  one  side  of  the  big 
hut  to  the  other,  her  hair  towering  in  a  fiery  mass  above  her 
proud  head. 

"I  send  good  thoughts  with  you,"  she  murmured  after  fol 
lowing  us  to  the  door. 

"You  have  all  of  ours,"  I  assured  her.  "Don't  be  afraid. 
If  an  American  can't  help  an  English  girl  he  must  have  very 
weak  medicine." 

Flat  Mouth  caught  the  last  word  and  gravely  told  her  : 

"The  white  woman's  medicine  makes  me  feel  very  strong.  I 
can  throw  a  buffalo  bull  when  her  eyes  watch  me." 

She  forced  a  smile  and  we  left  her. 

On  entering  Le  Borgne's  hut  Choke-cherry  accompanied  us 
only  to  the  door.  We  found  the  chief  seated  at  the  left  and 
facing  the  fire-hole,  gravely  contemplating  his  medicine-log.  He 
sat  on  a  couch  raised  a  foot  from  the  floor  by  willow  mats  and 
several  heavy  robes.  On  the  cottonwood  log  before  him  stood 
two  skulls  of  buffalo  bulls,  decorated  with  red  earth.  These 
were  his  greatest  treasures,  personifying  his  manlto.  Behind 
the  log  hung  his  weapons  of  war  and  the  chase,  and  the  trophies 
of  battles,  such  as  scalps. 

He  was  alone,  having  cleared  the  hut  of  his  women  in  antici 
pation  of  our  coming.  He  turned  his  head  as  we  entered  and 
I  was  hard  put  to  maintain  my  composure,  for  over  his  sightless 
right  eye  was  a  white  patch.  He  continued  swinging  his  head, 
and  in  the  boring  gaze  of  his  left  optic  I  found  enough  fire 
to  more  than  make  up  for  his  half  sight.  Like  all  the  Minne- 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  189 

tarees  he  had  an  extraordinary  beak  for  a  nose.  His  big  mouth 
was  further  widened  by  a  habitual  grin,  his  permanent  expres 
sion.  When  he  was  pleased  he  grinned.  When  he  was  con 
sumed  with  rage  he  continued  to  grin. 

That  Choke-cherry  stood  in  fear  of  him  was  shown  by  the 
fashion  in  which  the  old  rascal  poked  his  head  inside  the  door 
to  see  if  anything  was  wanted  and  then  ducked  back.  I  stood 
in  advance  of  Flat  Mouth.  Le  Borgne's  first  words  to  me 
were — 

"Ho!    I  like  white  men." 

The  Pillager  interpreted  this  over  my  shoulder.  Le  Borgne's 
lips  writhed  and  twisted  over  his  big  teeth  as  he  sought  to  give 
his  smile  an  amiable  cast.  From  his  medicine  log  he  took  a 
long-stemmed,  redstone  pipe  and  filled  it  with  Missouri  tobacco. 
Lighting  the  stuff,  he  took  a  whiff  and  puffed  it  towards  the 
heavens  and  passed  the  pipe  to  me  and  motioned  for  me  to  sit 
beside  him.  Flat  Mouth  squatted  on  his  heels  beside  me  to 
translate  the  chief's  words.  Our  host  began : 

"I  like  white  men.  They  bring  me  goods.  We  trade  with 
the  Spaniards  through  the  Cheyennes  and  southern  tribes  when 
we  are  not  at  war  with  them.  They  say  you  come  from  a  big 
white  chief  on  the  Assiniboin,  who  is  to  send  traders  here." 

"We  come  to  make  the  road  smooth  for  our  traders,  who 
will  bring  many  goods  and  guns,"  I  replied. 

"They  say  the  daughter  of  the  big  chief  comes  with  you. 
They  say  she  comes  to  be  my  wife." 

With  an  effort  I  controlled  my  voice,  making  it  careless  in 
tone  as  I  responded : 

"The  white  woman  is  a  medicine  woman.  She  can  not  marry. 
If  she  did  marry  her  medicine  would  kill  her  and  her  husband." 

His  brows  drew  down  as  he  cogitated  this,  but  his  smile 
continued.  Being  on  his  right  side  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
turn  his  head  to  look  at  me.  The  effect  was  curious  when  the 
white  patch  slowly  moved  to  one  side  to  allow  his  sound  eye 
to  study  me.  Without  commenting  on  my  disclosure  he  said : 

"They  say  your  Chippewa  is  a  very  brave  man  and  will  live 


190  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

with  my  people.    He  has  been  here  once  before.    We  did  not 
know  then  he  was  such  a  great  warrior." 

The  Pillager  spoke  up  haughtily,  announcing: 

"Eshkebugecoshe,  the  Sioux  Killer,  has  driven  all  the  enemies 
away  from  the  land  of  his  people  and  now  looks  round  for  a 
brave  people  who  need  him  in  making  war.  They  must  be 
very  brave.  They  must  be  at  war  with  the  Sioux.  I  come  here 
with  the  medicine  woman.  After  I  have  gone  with  her  to  her 
father  I  will  come  back  and  see  if  the  Minnetarees  are  good 
fighters." 

He  fingered  his  necklace  of  scalps  lovingly  and  stared  boldly 
into  the  smiling  face  of  Le  Borgne. 

1  The  Minnetaree  gazed  at  him  fixedly  for  some  time,  possibly 
speculating  on  the  advantage  and  disadvantage  of  having  such  a 
pronounced  fighter  in  his  village.  Shifting  his  gaze  back  to 
me  he  asked — 

"You  are  Bosheittochresha  (men  who  bring  black  cloth — 
English)? 

"Manceechteet  (long  knife — American),"  I  corrected. 

"You  work  for  the  English?" 

"I  work  for  the  big  chief,  father  of  the  white  medicine 
woman,"  I  replied. 

"Your  people  are  cowards." 

"They  are  the  bravest  of  the  brave.  They  can  come  out 
here  and  eat  you  up. 

He  laughed  aloud  and  mocked — 

"And  yet  you  work  for  the  English." 

"Because  they  want  very  brave  men.  The  chief  of  the  Pil 
lager  Chippewas  works  for  me.  Why?  Because  I  need  a  very 
brave  man." 

He  ceased  laughing  aloud  and  pondered  over  my  words  seem 
ing  to  find  them  logical,  for  he  nodded  his  head  slowly  as  if  in 
endorsement.  Then  he  abruptly  demanded — 

"Is  she  your  woman?" 

"She  is  no  man's  woman.    She  can  be  no  man's  woman." 

"Why  is  she  with  you  if  she  is  not  your  woman  ?" 

"Her  medicine  helps  me  make  good  trades  for  her  father." 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  191 

"Why  does  she  come  here  if  not  to  be  my  woman?"  he  puz 
zled,  his  grin  now  quite  ghastly. 

"Her  medicine  made  my  road  smooth  in  coming  here.  The 
northern  Indians  know  her  and  run  away  when  she  is  angry. 
The  Sioux  grow  blind  when  they  see  her  hair." 

This  engaged  him  in  thought  for  some  minutes,  for,  although 
one  of  the  greatest  of  the  plains  Indians,  he  was  yet  a  savage  and 
a  victim  of  his  superstitions. 

"Is  her  medicine  stronger  than  my  manito  f  he  asked,  nod 
ding  at  the  buffalo  heads. 

"Much  stronger,"  I  promptly  assured.  "If  she  wanted  to 
become  your  wife  your  manito  would  be  jealous.  Your  manito 
would  fight  with  her  medicine  and  would  be  killed.  You  would 
die  when  your  manito  died." 

Again  he  was  silent,  his  one  eye  focused  on  the  two  skulls. 
Then  he  threw  up  his  head  and  said : 

"Let  us  see  this  mighty  white  woman." 

He  called  out  and  Choke-cherry  bounced  in,  his  fat  face 
alive  with  fear.  The  chief  ordered  him  to  go  and  bring  Miss 
Dearness. 

I  affected  a  composure  I  was  far  from  feeling.  Flat  Mouth's 
hand  rested  on  his  hip  near  the  little  knife  hidden  in  his  clout, 
while  the  war-fires  sprang  up  in  his  small  eyes.  While  we 
waited,  Le  Borgne  ended  the  silence  by  saying: 

"I  lost  a  wife  while  on  the  hunt.  She  was  young  and  good 
to  look  at." 

"She  died  of  the  bad  cough?"  I  politely  inquired,  knowing 
many  of  the  Indians  were  suffering  from  it. 

He  shook  his  head  and  the  terrible  grin  widened  and  showed 
his  teeth  far  back. 

"She  is  not  dead  yet,"  he  said.  I  was  nonplussed,  and  was 
searching  for  some  intelligent  observation  when  he  enlightened 
me  a  bit  by  adding,  "She  went  to  live  with  a  young  man." 

I  decided  from  his  low  chuckling  that  he  accepted  her  infidel 
ity  very  philosophically.  He  remarked: 

"I  look  about  for  another  woman  to  take  her  place.    They 


192  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

say  the  white  woman  is  not  like  any  woman  ever  seen  in  the 
Indian's  country." 

Flat  Mouth's  hand  touched  my  arm,  but  I  had  already  heard 
the  sound  of  a  light  foot  at  the  door.  Choke-cherry  threw 
the  door  open,  and  the  girl  entered.  Her  sleepless  night  had 
left  an  unusual  pallor  on  her  face.  She  wore  her  capote  like  a 
hood  and  looked  like  a  nun  as  she  advanced.  I  rose  and  stood 
beside  her. 

Le  Borgne  turned  his  head,  tilted  it  and  for  fully  a  minute 
glared  into  her  white  face,  his  grin  tightening  and  growing 
more  wolfish.  She  met  his  gaze  steadily,  staring  at  him  as 
though  she  were  looking  through  him  and  not  at  him.  With 
a  snap  of  his  strong  teeth  he  muttered : 

"She  is  very  white.  I  never  saw  one  like  her.  I  never 
knew  women  like  her  lived.  Where  is  her  medicine  hair?" 

As  the  Pillager  interpreted  the  girl  hesitated,  then  catching 
my  side  glance  she  threw  back  her  capote  and  allowed  the  glory 
of  her  hair  to  show.  A  shaft  of  sunlight  from  the  small  window 
opening  back  of  the  chief  intensified  the  effect.  Le  Borgne 
dropped  his  redstone  pipe.  Although  he  still  grinned,  his  big 
mouth  was  agape  as  he  looked.  Rising  to  his  full  six  feet  he 
slowly  approached  her.  She  did  not  wince  nor  move,  and  red 
and  white  fought  the  ancient  battle  of  lust  and  denial  for  twice 
sixty  seconds.  Then  the  chief  gingerly  extended  his  fingers  to 
touch  her  hair  where  the  sunlight  made  it  spun-gold.  Her  eyes 
narrowed  ominously.  I  darted  out  my  left  foot  and  disturbed 
the  balance  of  one  of  the  buffalo  heads.  The  noise  caused  the 
chief  to  turn  in  time  to  see  the  skull  gently  rocking.  I  was 
staring  at  the  girl  as  if  oblivious  to  the  phenomenon.  He  drew 
back  his  hand  and  rubbed  his  chin,  studying  the  skull.  Plainly 
his  manito  was  jealous  and  was  warning  him  to  keep  his  hands 
from  the  strange  woman.  He  glanced  from  the  painted  skull 
to  the  blazing  eyes  and  sun-crowned  head  of  the  girl.  Then  he 
retreated  to  his  robes,  picked  up  his  pipe  and  summoned  Choke- 
cherry.  When  his  brother  entered  Le  Borgne  gave  him  an 
order  that  caused  Flat  Mouth  to  frown. 

Addressing  Miss  Dearness  in  Chippewa  the  Pillager  said: 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  193 

"He  says  for  you  to  go.  He  said  something  in  another  tongue 
I  did  not  understand." 

"I  have  my  knife/'  she  murmured. 

"You  are  perfectly  safe,"  I  spoke  up  in  English.  "The  Pil 
lager  and  I  are  still  here.  We  will  take  you  away  very  soon. 
Remember,  you  must  not  show  any  fear." 

Her  head  went  high,  and  she  gave  me  a  smile  as  she  bowed 
to  Le  Borgne  and  followed  the  waiting  Choke-cherry.  Le 
Borgne  forgot  his  pipe  in  staring  after  her ;  then  he  asked  me — 

"Why  do  you  come  here  and  bring  no  presents?" 

"The  white  woman's  father  will  send  many  presents.  He  said 
it  was  foolish  for  me  to  bother  with  a  few.  We  were  told  to 
come  and  ask  you  to  tell  where  our  trader  is  to  live.  Then 
we  were  to  return  very  quick.  The  Cheyennes  are  better  robe- 
makers  than  the  Minnetarees,  as  they  use  beads  and  porcupine- 
quills,  but  they  are  south  of  the  Missouri  and  the  white  chief 
does  not  want  to  go  below  the  river." 

"No  trade  can  cross  this  part  of  the  Missouri  unless  I  say 
it  can,"  informed  Le  Borgne.  "The  Cheyenne?  are  bad.  They 
would  not  put  presents  under  the  stem  and  make  peace  with 
us.  I  will  carry  the  pipe  against  them  soon.  I  will  call  a  coun 
cil  of  my  old  men  and  give  you  an  answer  about  your  trader." 

He  rose  to  terminate  the  interview. 

"We  are  in  great  haste  to  go  back.  Can  the  council  be  held 
to-day?"  I  asked. 

"Soon — to-day — another  day — sometime." 

It  was  useless  to  seek  to  improve  this  most  unsatisfactory 
reply.  Rugged  and  conscienceless,  inexorable  in  moods;  thor 
oughly  self-dependent  because  of  his  brute  strength,  the  man 
typified  the  muddy  river  which  was  even  now  carving  new  chan 
nels  for  itself  and  clawing  banks  and  cottonwoods  into  its  swol 
len  waters.  Just  as  the  very  country  seemed  to  possess  a  savage 
personality  unlike  the  Red  River  country,  so  did  this  savage 
despot  differ  widely  from  our  northern  chiefs.  When  he  stood 
up  to  dismiss  us  I  supposed  his  act  was  a  bit  of  perfunctory 
courtesy.  Not  so,  nor  would  it  have  been  in  keeping  with  his 
egotism.  He  proposed  to  walk  with  us  and,  as  we  set  forth,  he 


194  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

picked  up  a  heavy  war-axe  and  idly  swung  it  by  its  rawhide 
thong. 

The  Pillager  glanced  at  the  axe  and  shifted  to  the  man's  blind 
side,  and  I  noted  my  friend  carried  one  hand  gracefully  on  his 
hip,  near  the  haft  of  the  hidden  knife.  Walking  thus  between 
us  he  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  comments  upon  the  white  men 
whom  he  said  he  loved  as  brothers  and  added  some  mild  criticism 
of  the  absent  H.  B.  agent,  at  the  Mandan  village,  whom  we 
were  to  oppose,  but  never  once  did  he  refer  to  Miss  Dearness. 
I  grew  uneasy,  thinking  he  intended  to  proceed  to  the  guest 
hut.  Did  he  do  that  I  should  look  for  his  savage  whim  to 
prompt  him  to  peremptorily  demand  possession  of  the  girl.  To 
my  great  relief  he  halted  when  some  distance  from  the  hut,  and, 
stepping  aside  to  a  porch,  informed — 

"The  wife  I  lost  is  in  here." 

He  did  not  request  us  to  tarry,  but  as  we  walked  on  we 
glanced  back.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  loudly  calling  his 
woman  by  name.  She  did  not  appear  and  he  entered  the  hut. 
We  halted  and  saw  him  emerge,  dragging  a  woman  after  him. 
Wearing  the  same  grin  and  moving  as  deliberately  as  if  light 
ing  his  pipe  he  struck  the  poor  creature  over  the  head  with  his 
axe,  and  she  fell  lifeless  in  front  of  the  hut  of  her  lover.  Then, 
swinging  his  axe  by  the  thong,  the  chief  calmly  walked  back 
to  his  hut,  with  never  a  backward  glance  at  the  pitiable  shape 
he  had  murdered. 

" him  !"  I  whispered,  weak  and  sick. 

"He  is  very  bad,"  grunted  the  Pillager,  his  fingers  twitching 
nervously  at  his  girdle  in  search  of  the  axe  he  had  left  beside 
my  gun.  Had  he  found  it,  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  either 
the  Minnetarees  or  the  Pillager  Chippewas  would  have  lost  a 
great  warrior.  In  a  minute  he  had  a  grip  on  himself  and  was 
stoically  saying — 

"We  have  the  white  woman  to  think  about." 

So  we  went  on  while  the  curious  slowly  gathered,  while  the 
relatives  of  the  murdered  woman  timidly  removed  the  remains. 
Nor  did  I  hear  a  voice  raised  against  the  assassin,  nor  witness 
a  single  gesture  of  rage.  The  tragedy  taught  me  a  world  of 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  195 

truth  as  to  the  man's  merciless  character  and  unlimited  power. 
He  had  no  more  compunction  about  taking  the  woman's  life 
than  he  had  in  killing  a  buffalo.  Then  and  there  I  knew  Miss 
Dearness  must  follow  one  of  two  paths  were  she  to  escape  him : 
death,  or  a  play  upon  his  superstitious  fears.  Superstition,  the 
curse  of  the  ages,  the  mighty  barrier  to  human  progress,  now 
became  a  blessed  thing.  It  was  a  chink  in  the  armour  through 
which  the  bloody  devil  might  be  reached. 

The  Pillager  was  in  no  wise  so  deeply  concerned  as  to  Miss 
Dearness's  fate  as  I.  He  firmly  believed  the  girl's  red  hair  was 
a  mighty  medicine.  While  eager  to  do  a  man's  work  in  rescu 
ing  her,  he  was  upheld  by  knowing  her  manito  stood  by  to  help 
her.  Wishing  to  regain  my  composure  before  meeting  the  girl's 
sharp  eyes,  I  turned  aside  and  proposed  a  walk  toward  the  river. 

"The  village  is  very  still.  The  killing  has  frightened  them," 
I  remarked. 

"It  seems  still,  as  no  dogs  and  children  follow  us,"  explained 
the  Pillager. 

For  the  first  time,  I  observed,  we  were  left  undisturbed.  No 
children  swarmed  about  us  with  their  impish  tricks  and  amateur 
larcenies.  No  dogs  rushed  out  to  mangle  us.  We  had  Le  Borgne 
to  thank  for  this  much.  Even  though  he  murdered  a  woman, 
he  was  invariably  hospitable  to  white  men. 

As  we  passed  the  hut  where  the  two  Assiniboins  had  died 
I  asked  about  them,  and  Flat  Mouth  said  they  had  been  secretly 
buried  in  one  of  the  empty  corn-cellars.  The  village  as  a  unit 
took  it  for  granted  the  Cheyennes  had  sneaked  in  and  killed 
them.  It  was  hoped  to  keep  the  news  of  their  death  from  their 
tribe  until  Le  Borgne  could  bring  about  a  peace  with  the  Chey 
ennes,  or  call  in  a  large  war-party  of  his  old  allies,  the  Crows. 

"The  knife  they  found  by  the  bodies  was  a  Cheyenne  knife," 
gravely  added  the  Pillager. 

"I  saw  you  talk  with  the  Cheyenne  chief,  but  I  did  not  see 
him  give  you  the  knife,"  I  said. 

"He  is  a  very  brave  man.  His  brother  is  a  medicine  man 
who  knows  much  magic.  When  we  leave  the  village  for  the 
Red  River  I  will  stretch  their  hair  on  hoops." 


I96  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Throw  them  away!"  I  urged.  "If  they  should  be  found 
we  will  all  be  killed." 

"I  have  promised  them  to  the  Cheyennes.  A  Pillager  chief 
does  not  keep  the  hair  of  dogs,  but  to  throw  them  away  now 
would  show  I  was  afraid.  That  would  spoil  my  medicine. 
I  will  make  old  Tabashaw  grunt  when  I  sing  my  new  song." 

The  scalps  were  another  danger  added  to  our  list.  Did  the 
Minnetarees  so  much  as  suspect  the  Pillager  was  the  slayer 
there  would  be  no  mercy  shown  him.  Even  a  Sioux  was  safe 
if  he  succeeded  in  entering  the  village.  What  happened  to  him 
when  he  started  for  home  was  another  matter.  However,  it 
was  useless  to  argue  with  the  Pillager.  As  profitable  to  ask  a 
fanatic  to  forsake  his  religion  as  to  expect  an  Indian  to  do  what 
he  believed  would  spoil  his  medicine. 

"We  must  get  away  to-night,"  I  said. 

"Le  Borgne  said  something  to  Caltahcota  in  the  Crow  tongue. 
I  could  not  understand  it,"  mused  Flat  Mouth,  halting  and 
staring  toward  the  river. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  our  getting  away  tonight?" 

"Who  knows?  My  manito?  If  so  he  has  not  told  me. 
Perhaps  the  Medicine  Hair  knows.  The  buffalo  head  in  Le 
Borgne's  hut  could  tell  if  our  ears  could  hear." 

His  words  made  me  uneasy.  I  pressed  him  to  speak  more 
literally,  but  he  persisted  in  remaining  silent.  He  had  strong 
doubts  as  to  our  immediate  departure.  Le  Borgne's  aside  to 
Choke-cherry,  spoken  in  the  Crow  tongue,  was  behind  his 
doubts,  although  he  had  not  caught  the  war-chief's  words.  I 
decided  I  did  not  need  to  walk  farther  and  turned  back  to  the 
village.  A  group  of  men  approached  and  turned  aside  in  A 
desire  to  avoid  us.  One  of  them  I  recognized  as  being  promi 
nent  in  the  fiasco  at  the  Cheyenne  camp.  I  asked  Flat  Mouth 
to  name  him. 

"He  is  Aharattanamokshe,  or  Chief  of  the  Wolves,  the  oldest 
son  of  Caltahcota." 

"Speak  to  him.  Let  us  learn  how  the  tribe  feels  toward 
us.  If  Le  Borgne  feels  friendly,  his  men  will  show  it." 

Flat  Mouth  greeted  the  young  man  pleasantly  and  asked 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  197 

some  questions.  Chief  of  the  Wolves  stared  enviously  at  the 
scalps  on  the  Pillager's  breast  and  was  very  respectful  in  his 
attitude  as  he  replied  to  the  queries.  After  an  exchange  of  a 
few  sentences  the  warrior  turned  back  to  his  companions  while 
we  resumed  our  walk  to  the  village. 

"I  asked  him  if  the  men  went  to  swim,"  explained  Flat 
Mouth.  "He  said  the  Minnetarees  are  such  great  swimmers 
they  will  go  to  the  Missouri  and  not  to  the  Knife  when  they 
wish  to  swim.  Then  he  told  me  they  went  to  look  for  willows 
and  small  cottonwoods." 

"You  should  have  asked  him  if  the  people  think  the  white' 
woman's  medicine  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Cheyennes*  re 
fusing  the  treaty,  and  if  he  said  'yes/  you  should  have  told  him 
it  was  a  lie.  Choke-cherry  has  told  his  brother  the  white 
woman  is  to  blame  for  the  Cheyennes'  riding  away." 

"They  go  to  find  willows  and  small  cottonwoods  strong 
enough  to  use  in  making  a  new  hut,"  said  Flat  Mouth. 

"That  is  stuff  for  women  and  children  to  listen  to,"  I  said. 

"There  is  much  to  be  found  out  when  they  talk  of  making  a 
new  hut,"  said  the  Pillager.  "Who  is  to  live  in  it?" 

I  waited  and  as  he  kept  silent  I  was  forced  to  ask: 

"Well,  what  did  you  find  out?    Who  is  to  live  in  it?" 

"They  did  not  say.  But  no  new  people  have  come  to  the 
village  except  a  white  man,  a  brave  Pillager  Chippewa  and  a 
mighty  medicine  woman." 

"By  heavens!  They  build  the  hut  for  us.  They  expect  us 
to  stay  here!"  I  cried  in  English. 

My  emotion  gave  him  his  cue,  rather  than  any  knowledge  of 
English,  although  he  was  able  to  pick  up  words  here  and  there. 

"They  let  men  sleep  in  the  big  hut  or  where  they  will,"  he 
said.  "A  new  hut  means  a  new  wife  for  a  big  chief.  I  have 
said  it.  Let  the  white  woman  use  her  medicine  now  if  she 
would  go  back  to  the  Red  River." 

His  frankness  left  me  nonplussed  and  frightened.  I  rallied 
finally  and  managed  to  make  light  of  the  warning.  Le  Borgne 
was  a  wise  man.  If  his  Indian  nature  would  permit  him  to 
defy  the  medicine  of  the  girl — and  this  I  could  scarcely  believe — 


198  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

his  astuteness  would  restrain  him  from  killing  what  he  believed 
was  a  chance  for  a  permanent  post  in  the  village.  The  great 
advantage  of  having  an  N.  W.  trader  constantly  supplying  him 
with  arms  and  ammunition  would  greatly  outweigh  his  lust 
for  a  woman,  whether  she  be  red  or  white.  War  came  first; 
women  next.  I  spoke  this  aloud  and  told  it  over  to  myself.  The 
Pillager  listened  and  watched  me  closely.  Then  he  spoke,  his 
words  exploding  all  my  false  hopes : 

"Le  Borgne  is  not  like  other  Indians.  He  has  his  own  way 
more  than  other  chiefs.  He  thinks  his  manito  is  very  strong — 
stronger  than  any  other  manito f  for  has  he  not  always  had  his 
own  way?  When  he  wants  anything  he  is  like  a  child;  he 
wants  it  and  can  think  of  nothing  else.  He  killed  a  woman 
before  our  eyes.  Many  chiefs  would  be  afraid  her  people  might 
try  to  wash  out  her  death  with  his  blood.  But  he  wanted  to  kill 
her ;  he  could  think  of  only  that. 

"He  believes  the  white  woman's  medicine  is  strong,  but  he 
believes  his  is  stronger.  If  he  takes  her  to  a  new  hut  as  his 
woman  he  will  show  that  his  manito  is  stronger.  Then  he  will 
boast  he  has  tamed  her  medicine  and  that  it  will  work  for  him. 
With  the  two  medicines  working  for  him  he  will  believe  the 
big  white  chief  we  have  told  about  will  be  glad  to  build  a  post 
here." 

"I'll  shoot  him  before  he  shall  take  the  woman!"  I  gritted. 

"I  am  chief  of  the  Pillagers.  It  is  my  right  to  wear  two 
eagle  feathers  in  my  hair  for  every  enemy  I  have  scalped  in 
battle.  It  is  through  me  the  white  woman's  medicine  will 
work,"  he  haughtily  retorted. 

We  talked  no  more  but  hurried  back  to  the  guest-hut,  for  I 
was  foolish  enough  to  think  my  presence  might  protect  her.  The 
door  was  open,  which  surprised  me,  as  Miss  Dearness  was 
quick  to  close  it  when  we  went  out.  We  entered  and  I  called 
her  name.  Our  two  guns  and  ammunition  stood  where  we  had 
left  them  but  the  girl  was  gone.  That  she  should  attempt  to 
walk  about  the  village  was  unthinkable.  I  snatched  up  the  gun, 
made  sure  it  was  loaded,  and  would  have  dashed  out  had  not 
Flat  Mouth  seized  me  by  the  arm  and  cautioned: 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  199 

"Walk  softly.    Waft  for  me." 

He  slipped  on  his  robe,  slung  his  bow  and  arrows  over  his 
shoulder  and  picked  up  his  gun.  Then  he  circled  the  hut  and 
spent  some  moments  at  the  skin  couch  before  the  fire-hole. 

"We  kill  much  time,"  I  impatiently  warned. 

"Is  this  medicine  talk  for  you  ?"  he  called  back. 

I  joined  him  and  he  pointed  to  some  words  scrawled  with  a 
charred  stick  on  the  rocks  forming  the  rim  of  the  fire-hole. 
The  message  read: 

They  take  me  to  another  hut,  they  say.    Find  me,  American. 

I  read  it  to  Flat  Mouth  who  was  highly  pleased  with  this 
proof  of  the  girl's  power  to  communicate  with  me.  But  when  I 
would  have  commenced  a  precipitate  search  he  restrained  me, 
saying: 

"We  shall  get  an  axe  stuck  in  our  heads.  The  white  woman 
will  be  left  with  her  medicine  to  fight  alone.  It  is  no  time  to 
run  like  a  badger  after  game.  We  must  be  the  fox.  Le 
Borgne  will  kill  us  if  we  hurry." 

He  stood  before  me,  his  powerful  form  blocking  my  path 
until  I  had  regained  an  appearance  of  composure.  Then,  nod 
ding  in  approval,  he  stepped  aside  for  me  to  pass.  As  we  reached 
the  door  I  paused  and  filled  and  lighted  my  pipe  to  show  my 
lack  of  concern.  This  was  well  played,  as  Flat  Mouth  quietly 
informed  me  two  men,  spies,  were  watching  us  from  the  porch 
of  the  next  hut.  By  an  effort  I  forced  myself  to  laugh,  and  the 
grim  features  of  the  Pillager  took  on  a  smile.  We  sauntered 
carelessly  from  the  hut,  the  Pillager  murmuring : 

"She  is  still  in  the  village.  Le  Borgne  would  place  her  in 
his  brother's  hut,  I  think." 

This  was  logical,  and  in  a  roundabout  way  we  finally  arrived 
at  Choke-cherry's  abode.  The  old  villain  was  seated  on  the 
porch,  puffing  mightily  to  make  his  Missouri  weed  burn  in  his 
long  pipe.  Several  of  his  women  were  removing  some  earthen 
pots  and  copper  kettles  to  the  next  hut.  I  expressed  concern  for 
his  difficulty  in  getting  a  smoke  and  generously  gave  him  an 


200  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

inch  of  tobacco  and  waited  for  him  to  fill  and  light  up.  Flat 
Mouth  touched  my  elbow.  I  turned  and,  under  a  pretext  of 
addressing  him,  observed  the  direction  of  his  staring  gaze.  He 
was  looking  intently  at  the  wall  of  the  hut.  Taking  my  time,  I 
discovered  a  piece  of  bark  hanging  on  the  wall.  On  it  was 
writing. 

To  Choke-cherry,  through  the  Pillager,  I  said — 
"Where  did  you  get  the  medicine  that  drives  evil  spirits 
away?"    And  I  stepped  closer  to  the  writing. 
Between  puffs  the  old  reprobate  proudly  said : 
"It  is  very  big  medicine.    It  will  bring  me  many  ponies.     It 
will  keep  the  spotted  sickness  (small-pox)  from  my  hut." 
I  scarcely  heard  the  Pillager's  translation,  for  I  was  reading : 

I  know  the  worst.  It  shall  never  happen.  The  woman  tells  me 
in  the  sign  language  there  is  to  be  a  big  feast  in  two  days.  Don't 
run  any  risks  for  me.  You  have  done  too  much  already.  I  am  very 
brave.  It  will  not  be  hard. 

"A  very  good  medicine,"  I  said,  stepping  back  and  feeling  the 
cold  sweat  standing  on  my  forehead.  "But  it  is  the  woman  part 
of  the  medicine.  There  is  a  man  part  that  makes  it  whole.  I 
will  give  you  the  man  part  because  you  are  the  brother  of  the 
mighty  chief  and  will  open  his  ears  to  what  I  say  about  a 
trading  post  here." 

While  the  Pillager  told  him  this,  I  picked  up  a  bit  of  charcoal 
from  a  dead  fire  and  rapidly  wrote : 

It  shall  not  happen.  Be  ready  to-night  We  can  do  nothing  in  the 
daytime.  If  not  to-night,  then  to-morrow  night.  Remember,  it  shall 
not  happen. 

Then  to  the  deeply  interested  Choke-cherry  I  explained: 

"The  medicine  is  now  whole.  When  the  sun  is  overhead 
take  it  inside  and  hang  it  over  the  place  for  medicine." 

As  it  was  near  noon  I  knew  the  girl  would  soon  see  it.  I  had 
not  ventured  to  call  out  to  the  girl  and  address  her,  as  her 
writing  hinted  at  a  command  for  silence  from  Le  Borgne. 

We  leisurely  continued  our  stroll  until  we  were  at  the  hut 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  201 

of  the  chief.  Like  his  brother  he  was  outside  enjoying  the  sun, 
his  one  eye  gleaming  evilly.  The  Pillager  and  I  stood  our  guns 
against  the  upright  of  the  long  platform,  now  loaded  with 
driftwood,  and  I  greeted  the  chief  with  an  amiable  smile  and 
produced  my  tobacco.  Taking  his  pipe  I  filled  and  lighted  it 
and  sent  a  puff  towards  the  heavens.  Handing  it  to  him  and 
recharging  my  own,  I  said — 

"When  the  white  man's  post  is  here  the  greatest  of  all  war 
chiefs  will  smoke  good  tobacco  all  the  time." 

He  sucked  in  the  smoke  with  huge  content,  but  eyed  me  suspi 
ciously  for  a  moment.  Turning  his  head  aside  so  only  the  dead 
eye  showed,  he  remarked : 

"The  white  woman  asked  for  a  new  hut.  She  said  her  medi 
cine  was  cold  where  she  was.  My  men  will  build  her  a  new 
hut.  Until  it  is  ready  she  will  live  in  the  hut  of  my  brother, 
Caltahcota,  who  has  moved  his  wives  and  children  to  another 
hut." 

"The  big  white  chief  will  thank  you  with  many  presents  for 
your  kindness  to  his  daughter,"  I  warmly  assured.  "His  friends 
told  him  to  build  his  post  among  the  Sioux  but  the  woman's 
medicine  told  him  to  build  it  here.  The  post  will  make  the 
Minnetarees  the  greatest  and  strongest  of  all  Indians  so  long 
as  they  do  not  wrong  the  white  chief." 

"I  will  brain  the  man  or  woman  who  touches  his  goods," 
declared  Le  Borgne,  toying  with  the  axe  he  had  so  recently 
used  in  murdering  the  woman. 

"He  will  come  soon  with  many  white  men  and  many  guns," 
I  added. 

"Why  does  he  bring  many  men  and  many  guns  when  he 
comes  to  his  friends?"  asked  Le  Borgne,  jerking  his  head  about 
to  bring  his  one  eye  to  bear  upon  me. 

"Because  he  brings  many  presents  and  much  goods,  and  knows 
the  Assiniboins  would  kill  and  rob  a  small  party." 

The  chief  smiled  and  frowned,  his  one  eye  glowing  like  a 
demon's. 

"The  Assiniboins  are  dogs,"  he  softly  muttered.  "Two  were 
killed  by  Cheyennes  in  this  village  last  night.  The  Cheyennes 


202  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

are  very  brave  men.  They  have  fine  horses.  My  brother  was 
a  fool  not  to  make  peace  with  them.  He  says  the  medicine 
of  the  white  woman  spoiled  the  peace." 

"He  lies.  He  was  afraid  his  brother,  the  big  war  chief,  would 
be  angry  with  him  for  his  foolishness.  He  tries  to  blame  it  on 
the  woman." 

He  did  not  resent  my  blunt  characterization  of  his  brother 
and  continued: 

"He  was  a  fool  to  hold  the  Assiniboins  when  theytcame  to 
the  camp.  They  had  come  to  the  village  and  left  it.  After 
they  left  it  anyone  could  kill  them.  They  are  dogs.  My  brother 
should  have  taken  the  ten  ponies  for  them.  I  have  offered  a 
wife,  three  horses  and  a  hundred  skins  for  one  of  their  ponies, 
and  they  would  not  trade." 

"If  the  white  woman's  medicine  is  not  made  angry,  it  can  get 
you  many  Cheyenne  ponies,"  I  said.  "I  will  see  her  and  talk 
about  it." 

"She  says  she  wants  to  be  alone,"  he  replied,  swinging  his 
left  eye  about  and  darting  a  challenge  at  me. 

"If  she  says  it,  it  is  so.  Those  who  make  her-  medicine  angry 
will  surely  follow  the  broad  trail  to  the  west,  where  stand  the 
many  huts  of  the  dead." 

"She  asks  to  be  my  woman,"  he  announced,  his  right  hand 
dropping  on  the  handle  of  the  big  axe. 

"If  she  asks  it,  it  is  good,"  I  managed  to  reply;  but  only  the 
fact  that  my  gun  was  beyond  my  reach  prevented  me  from  blow 
ing  the  devil's  head  off.  "But  if  you  take  her  for  a  wife  and 
her  medicine  says,  'No !'  then  the  Minnetarees  will  name  a  new 
war-chief  in  your  place." 

"Ho!"  he  rumbled,  rising  and  folding  his  muscular  arms 
across  his  broad  chest.  "A  medicine  man  tells  me  my  manito 
is  stronger  than  hers.  It  shall  be  a  fight  between  them.  If  my 
manito  is  a  liar,  or  a  coward,  or  weak,  he  will  be  whipped.  But 
while  they  fight  I  will  have  the  woman,  a  mystery  woman,  a 
woman  with  hair  like  red  fires." 

As  the  Pillager  interpreted  this,  it  was  only  his  bearing  that 
sobered  me  and  kept  me  from  insanely  jumping  for  my  gun. 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  203 

His  cold  face  showed  the  utmost  unconcern.  After  he'd  fin 
ished  repeating  the  chief's  boast  he  stepped  close  to  Le  Borgne 
and  taunted: 

"Fool !  An  evil  spirit  draws  you  to  your  death  and  you 
do  not  know  it.  I,  chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas,  wearer  of 
many  eagle  feathers  for  the  men  I  have  scalped  in  battle,  say  it. 
An  evil  spirit,  sent  by  the  Sioux's  great  manito,  tells  you  to 
take  the  white  woman.  So  be  it." 

Le  Borgne's  smile  twisted  his  lips  convulsively,  and  for  a 
moment  I  believed  he  was  to  grapple  with  my  friend.  But  Flat 
Mouth's  boldness  appealed  to  him.  The  warning  about  the 
Sioux  manito  laying  an  ambush  and  baiting  him  with  the  girl 
also  registered  deeply. 

"You  are  a  brave  man,"  he  said  to  the  Pillager,  "or  you 
would  be  a  dead  man  under  my  axe.  I  love  brave  men  even 
when  they  are  my  enemies." 

"I  am  not  your  enemy.  I  tell  you  the  truth.  That  makes 
me  your  friend,"  said  Flat  Mouth. 

"You  shall  stay  to  the  feast  I  give  after  two  sleeps.  Then 
you  must  go  away,  for  the  Minnetaree  village  is  too  small  for 
two  brave  men.  The  white  man  may  stay,  but  you  must  go." 

"And  be  followed  by  your  warriors  who  will  try  to  kill  me 
after  I  get  away  from  the  village,"  sneered  Flat  Mouth. 

"No!"  passionately  cried  Le  Borgne,  and  I  was  convinced  he 
spoke  sincerely.  "Le  Borgne,  the  Blind,  will  never  wish  to 
kill  the  Sioux  Killer.  Go  and  kill  more  of  our  enemies.  After 
another  snow  come  to  me  and  smoke  some  of  the  trader's  to 
bacco.  To-day  there  is  a  little  cloud  over  the  sun.  Sometime 
it  will  go  away  and  we  shall  feel  warm  towards  each  other." 

We  left  him,  having  learned  for  a  certainty  how  much  time 
we  had  to  work  in.  On  the  surface  the  case  seemed  hopeless. 
The  girl  was  isolated  and  not  permitted  to  see  us.  We  might 
kill  the  chief  and  a  few  others,  but  we  could  not  expect  to  fight 
our  way  clear  of  the  village.  The  Pillager  would  consider  it 
an  ideal  exit  to  go  to  his  happy  hunting-grounds  in  defence  of 
the  girl's  medicine.  We  were  three  sentenced  to  death,  and 
death  it  must  be  after  two  sleeps,  unless  a  miracle  rescued  us. 


204  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

As  we  skirted  the  village  and  gave  ourselves  to  thought,  I 
found  death  to  be  very  impersonal.  It  meant  nothing  to  me 
beyond  a  keen  disappointment.  There  were  so  many  things  I 
had  intended  to  experiment  in  and  to  accomplish  before  I  died. 
The  adventure  had  opened  up  a  desire  to  know  more  about  the 
girl.  Destiny  had  purposed  that  I  should  succeed,  else  why  had 
she  come  into  my  life  ?  Then  there  was  my  disappearance  from 
the  Pembina  post.  Would  the  truth  ever  be  known,  or  would 
the  gentlemen  of  the  North  write  me  down  as  a  deserter? 
Would  any  thieving  on  Black  Chabot's  part  be  blamed  on  me? 
Altogether,  an  abrupt  finish  would  leave  many  loose  ends  which 
an  orderly  fate  would  have  gathered  up.  The  grim  irony  of  it 
all,  that  I,  a  Northman,  should  perish  by  the  ferocious  fancy  of 
a  savage  chief. 

"My  friend's  face  should  be  filled  with  suffshine,"  grunted 
Flat  Mouth  reproachfully. 

I  simulated  a  genial  expression  and  looked  up  to  find  the 
reason  for  his  warning.  Chief  of  the  Wolves  and  his  friends 
were  returning  from  the  river,  and  with  them  rode  an  Indian 
on  a  pony  whose  appearance  testified  to  rough  and  fast  travel. 
He  was  the  centre  of  the  group  and  the  target  for  many  que 
ries.  As  they  drew  abreast  of  us,  the  horseman  noticed  Flat 
Mouth  and  stared  at  him  and  his  string  of  scalps  and  talked 
hurriedly  with  Chief  of  the  Wolves.  Then  he  jumped  from 
his  pony  and  ran  to  us  seizing  the  Pillager's  hand  and  shaking 
it  warmly,  crying: 

"They  say  you  are  the  Chippewa  chief  who  killed  the  Sioux. 
They  say  the  scalps  you  wear  came  from  Sioux  heads.  Your 
name  is  heard  throughout  the  Sioux  country.  The  Sioux  chiefs 
call  you  a  great  warrior  and  make  medicine  to  get  your  skull 
as  a  drinking-dish.  I,  White  Snake,  a  Minnetaree  and  their 
prisoner,  heard  them  tell  these  things." 

"I  am  a  mighty  warrior,"  readily  agreed  Flat  Mouth.  "The 
Snake's  medicine  was  strong  to  help  him  get  away." 

"I  have  been  with  them  for  many  moons.  I  went  to  hunt 
buffalo  with  them.  Then  runners  came  with  stories  of  what 
they  had  seen.  The  hunting  party  broke  up,  and  I  got  away." 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  205 

Chief  of  the  Wolves  now  impatiently  reminded: 

"My  uncle,  the  Blind,  is  waiting  for  you  to  bring  him  a  talk. 
It  is  not  good  to  keep  him  waiting." 

"The  White  Snake  brings  good  news?''  asked  Flat  Mouth, 
as  the  escaped  warrior  turned  to  mount  his  pony. 

"Strangers  come.  It  is  good  or  bad,"  retorted  the  Snake. 
"My  medicine  let  me  get  away  while  the  Sioux  were  riding 
to  meet  the  strangers.  If  they  are  friends  of  the  Sioux  they 
will  come  here  to  kill  us." 

Chief  of  the  Wolves  ran  ahead  and  looked  back,  and  the 
Snake  remembered  it  was  not  good  to  keep  Le  Borgne  waiting. 
The  Pillager  and  I  ruminated  over  the  man's  story.  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  much  to  it.  The  Sioux  were  much  excited  over 
some  strangers.  The  Snake  had  failed  to  reveal  who,  or  what 
they  were.  My  first  thought  was  of  some  formidable  war-party 
from  the  far  south.  Flat  Mouth  disagreed  with  me,  insisting 
the  Snake  had  said  nothing  to  suggest  fear  or  warlike  prepara 
tions  on  the  part  of  the  Sioux.  If  it  had  been  a  war-party 
the  scouts  would  have  brought  word  to  that  effect.  After  we 
had  argued  it  back  and  forth  without  getting  anywhere  he 
dismissed  it  by  simply  stating — 

"It  is  the  medicine  of  the  white  woman  working  to  let  her 
go  free." 

Such  was  his  faith  in  the  girl's  powers  that  his  black  eyes 
glittered  with  hope  and  he  walked  with  a  springy,  confident 
step.  He  had  thrown  aside  all  cares  and  worries.  Being  an 
Indian  it  was  good  logic,  for  what  is  the  use  in  believing  in 
medicine  and  good-luck  if  your  faith  fails  to  help  in  an  emer 
gency?  Only  I  did  not  possess  the  Pillager's  child-like  trust. 
We  two  men  were  the  chosen  instruments  for  liberating  Miss 
Dearness.  Her  medicine  was  as  strong  and  resourceful  as  we 
were,  and  we  were  helpless. 

"Eshkebugecoshe,  there  is  but  one  way.  I  will  go  to  Le 
Borgne's  hut  to-night.  While  I  am  there  you  must  get  the 
girl  from  the  hut,  take  her  to  the  corral,  get  ponies  and  ride 
north  to  the  Missouri." 

He  promptly  shook  his  head  in  refusal. 


206  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Where  will  my  white  brother  be  if  I  do  get  the  girl 
away?" 

"I  will  follow  you." 

"The  trail  you  will  follow  will  lead  far  from  the  Missouri. 
Even  if  I,  chief  of  the  Pillagers,  could  do  this  thing,  the  Medi 
cine  Hair  would  not.  It  is  poor  medicine  you  plan  to  make. 
The  white  woman's  man'ito  is  strong  enough  to  let  us  all  get 
away.  We  will  wait.  The  feast  is  not  for  two  sleeps.  Many 
things  can  happen  in  two  sleeps." 

His  optimism  did  not  cool  off  the  little  hell  in  which  I 
lived.  Desperation  often  begets  a  ferocious  courage.  Then 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  rinding  great  relief  in  learning  the 
worst.  I  was  impatient  to  have  the  climax  over  with.  I 
wanted  to  take  my  double-barrel  gun  and  make  an  end  of  the 
situation  by  sending  a  heav)^  buffalo  charge  through  Le 
Borgne's  head.  A  new  situation  would  instantly  bob  up,  but 
it  would  have  the  virtue  of  being  different  from  the  present 
horror.  Flat  Mouth  slipped  his  arm  through  mine,  as  if  fear 
ing  I  might  race  off  and  do  something  rash.  As  he  induced 
me  to  walk  back  to  the  village,  he  talked  softly,  saying: 

"If  her  medicine  grows  weak  we  will  go  down  like  brave 
men,  taking  her  with  us.  To  strike  now  would  be  as  foolish 
as  to  lay  an  ambush  and  then  shoot  at  the  first  warrior  to  ap 
proach  it,  instead  of  waiting  till  the  game  was  well  trapped. 
Wait!  My  manito  whispers  that  many  things  will  happen 
if  we  wait.  Would  Le  Borgne  sell  the  white  woman?" 

"We  have  nothing  to  trade,"  I  sullenly  reminded.  "He 
wants  guns,  but  we  have  none.  He  is  bad." 

"He  is  a  great  warrior.  He  wants  the  white  woman  for  his 
wife.  Why  shouldn't  he?  My  white  brother  would  take  her 
as  his  wife  if  he  could." 

Had  he  struck  me  in  the  face  I  could  not  have  been  more 
startled,  for  his  confident  assertion  instantly  set  strange  fancies 
in  motion.  I  pictured  a  home-loving  woman,  busy  with  do 
mestic  tasks,  wearing  the  wonderful  hair  of  Mis?  Dearness  and 
glorified  by  the  happiness  of  wifehood.  The  contrast  between 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  207 

this  picture  and  her  probable  fate  was  appalling.  I  strove  in 
vain  to  dismiss  it. 

During  all  our  perils  no  sentiment  had  had  time  to  lodge 
with  me.  Each  hour  had  brought  new  hardships  and  dangers, 
and  we  were  rushed  from  one  dilemma  to  another  with  the 
stage  ever  set  with  climaxes.*  It  was  grotesque  that  now,  in 
the  supreme  peril,  I  should  hark  back  to  the  tantalizing  mood 
which  was  responsible  for  my  seeking  her  up  the  river.  Her 
manner  of  caressing  my  hand  had  not  encouraged  soft  thoughts. 
It  was  simply  her  way  of  thanking  me.  From  the  begin 
ning  it  had  been  difficult  to  imagine  her  in  the  role  of  a  sweet 
heart,  although  her  peril  accentuated  her  womanliness. 

"Buy  her  from  Le  Borgne,"  continued  Flat  Mouth,  ig 
norant  of  the  turmoil  he  had  stirred  up  within  me. 

"With  what?"  I  angrily  countered. 

"The  white  robes.  They  are  very  big  medicine  with  the 
Minnetarees.  Even  Le  Borgne  does  not  own  five  such  as  you 
have,  down  in  the  Mandan  hut.  The  skin  of  the  calf  is  worth 
more  than  the  big  robes  to  these  Indians.  They  believe  a  white 
calf-skin  is  mighty  medicine." 

Here  was  the  nucleus  of  an  idea.  In  the  white  robes  and 
calfskin  I  held  a  value  equivalent  to  many  hundreds  of  skins — 
to  many  ponies.  It  was  such  a  trade  that  was  seldom,  if  ever, 
offered  to  a  Minnetaree.  Ordinarily  it  required  a  syndicating 
of  property  to  purchase  one  robe.  The  bargain  was  made  as 
soon  as  suggested  to  an  ordinary  war-chief.  He  not  only 
would  sell  a  prospective  bride,  but  he  would  throw  in  all  his 
wives  and  daughters  for  good  measure. 

But  no  one  could  ever  foresee  what  Le  Borgne  would  do. 
His  tenacity  of  purpose,  especially  in  his  lusts,  would  not  stay 
him  from  murdering  a  kinsman,  if  such  a  homicide  be  neces 
sary  to  his  gaining  the  woman  he  fancied.  Still  it  was  an 
idea.  To  begin  with,  he  was  a  savage;  therefore  he  possessed 
many  simple  traits.  He  was  subtle  and  cunning;  he  was 
childishly  direct  in  his  technique;  he  was  a  mass  of  contra 
dictions.  At  times  the  devil  couldn't  guess  his  mind;  again 
he  was  transparent  as  rain-water.  He  lived  with  whims  and 


208  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

usually  surrendered  to  his  moods.  If  his  mood  required  as 
tuteness,  he  stood  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  savage. 
If  it  required  the  simple  reaching  forth  and  taking,  a  dog  after 
a  bone  could  not  be  more  precipitate  in  action  and  obvious  in 
purpose.  If  his  yearning  for  good  luck,  as  symbolized  by  the 
robes,  should  outweigh  his  animalism,  he  would  sell  the  girl. 
If  his  lust  for  her  was  the  dominating  thought  when  I  came  to 
make  a  trade,  all  the  white  robes  on  the  plains  would  fail. 

I  do  not  think  the  idea  revived  my  hopes  to  any  great 
extent,  but  I  did  lose  something  of  my  melancholia,  of  my 
fatalistic  belief  that  the  girl  and  I  had  found  death  in  com 
ing  across  the  Coteau  du  Missouri. 

Now  whether  I  would  have  experienced  even  this  slight 
change  of  heart  if  the  Pillager's  idea  of  the  robes  had  not  been 
preceded  by  the  suggestion  that  I  wanted  the  girl  for  myself, 
I  can  not  say.  At  that  time  I  do  not  even  know  that  I  wished 
her  for  my  wife.  She  was  too  marvellous  and  fascinating  to 
be  relegated  to  any  one  plane.  She  was  wonderful  and  seemed 
to  stand  aloof.  She  was  one  to  keep  a  man's  mind  topsy 
turvy,  did  he  think  of  her  fondly.  My  manito  knows  I  had 
had  scant  time  for  soft  imaginings  from  that  moment  when  she 
broke  through  the  bushes  on  the  east  side  of  Red  River  and  I 
began  my  efforts  of  helping  her  to  escape.  I  needed  a  clear 
head  to  see  the  thing  through.  I  must  think  only  of  Le 
Borgne  and  his  moods.  But  should  one  picture  her  in  love, 
what  a  tornado  of  passion  his  fancy  would  be  compelled  to 
paint.  She  was  not  a  half-way  woman.  She  was  all  ice  or 
all  fire. 

"Ride  to  the  Mandan  village  and  bring  the  robes.  See  they 
are  wrapped  securely  so  no  one  will  know  what  they  are,"  I 
commanded  as  we  entered  the  village  near  the  corral. 

"Little  birds  sing  in  my  ears  and  tell  me  our  medicine  is 
making,"  said  the  Pillager  as  he  brought  his  pony  from  the  cor 
ral. 

Some  Indians  gathered  around  us,  and  Le  Borgne  strode 
through  the  group,  his  one  eye  gleaming  questions,  his  wide 
mouth  twisted  sardonically. 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  209 

"The  great  chief  of  the  Chippewas  goes  out  to  kill  more 
Sioux?"  he  asked. 

"He  is  tired  of  staying  penned  up  in  the  village,"  gravely 
replied  the  Pillager.  "He  will  ride  out  and  look  for  signs  of 
an  enemy  war-path.  The  Pillager  Chippewas  never  wait  for 
their  enemies  to  come  to  them." 

Le  Borgne's  smile  persisted,  but  there  was  murder  in  his  eye 
as  he  caught  this  taunt.  Speaking  very  low  he  said : 

"After  the  big  feast  when  I  have  had  the  white  medicine- 
woman  for  a  wife,  I  will  go  with  the  Chippewa,  and  we  will 
see  who  will  ride  the  farthest  in  search  of  the  enemy,  and  who 
will  kill  the  most.  We  shall  ride  so  far  and  fight  so  hard  that 
one  of  us  must  die  in  battle  before  the  other  can  come  back. 
My  village  is  not  big  enough  for  two  such  men  to  return  to." 

"Le  Borgne  is  a  great  man,  but  he  is  not  a  Pillager  Chip 
pewa,"  Flat  Mouth  insolently  retorted,  springing  on  his  pony. 

Le  Borgne  ever  loved  a  brave  man.  If  he  had  any  religion 
besides  the  usual  Indian  belief  in  good  and  bad  luck  it  con 
sisted  of  a  worship  of  courage.  Therefore  Flat  Mouth's  in 
sult  raised  him  in  the  war-chief's  esteem. 

"Don't  get  killed  so  you  can  not  go  on  the  war-path  with 
me,"  he  warned. 

The  Pillager  waved  his  hand  and  galloped  towards  the 
north.  I  knew  he  planned  swinging  east  and  crossing  the 
Missouri  at  the  mouth  of  the  Knife,  risking  an  encounter  with 
any  loitering  Assiniboins  as  he  made  for  the  lower  Mandan 
village.  He  courted  grave  hazards  in  pursuing  this  course, 
but  I  could  appreciate  his  desire  to  leave  Le  Borgne  in  igno 
rance  of  his  true  purpose.  Had  he  set  forth  on  the  road  we 
had  come  over,  the  Minnetaree  chief  might  have  forbidden 
his  departure,  fearing  some  trick. 

As  I  walked  into  the  village  Le  Borgne  kept  beside  me. 
We  could  not  talk  for  the  lack  of  an  interpreter,  yet  I  sensed 
a  change  in  the  chief.  I  got  the  impression  something  was 
troubling  him.  He  carried  his  axe  and  swung  it  in  short  vi 
cious  circles.  Knowing  my  success  in  trading  white  robes  for 
the  girl  depended  on  the  particular  mood  he  might  be  in,  I  took 


210  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

heart  enough  to  believe  his  thoughts  were  for  war  and  not  for 
women.  His  talk  with  Flat  Mouth  evidenced  a  desire  to  go 
to  battle.  It  was  possible  the  White  Snake's  news  about  the 
strangers  had  aroused  the  warrior  in  him. 

When  we  came  to  Choke-cherry's  hut  he  halted,  and  I 
did  the  same.  Chief  of  the  Wolves  and  his  two  younger  broth 
ers  and  the  White  Snake  were  posted  at  regular  intervals  at 
the  front  of  the  hut.  To  learn  if  they  were  sentinels,  I  boldly 
entered  the  porch  and  placed  my  hand  on  the  door.  Chief  of 
the  Wolves  sprang  forward  and  pushed  me  back.  I  glanced 
at  Le  Borgne  and  he  motioned  me  to  step  back.  Speaking 
loudly  in  English  for  the  girl's  benefit,  I  told  Chief  of  the 
Wolves  to  keep  his  hands  off  me  or  I  would  shoot  him.  She 
heard  me,  and  her  voice  called  out — 

"Oh,  American!    I'm  afraid  !" 

Le  Borgne  thrust  forward  his  head,  his  one  eye  glittering 
like  a  piece  of  broken  glass  in  the  sunlight.  He  was  suspicious. 
He  forgot  I  did  not  talk  his  lingo  and  shot  out  some  query 
which  I  guessed  to  be  a  demand  to  know  what  the  white 
woman  had  said.  I  made  spiral  lines  with  my  index  finger  high 
above  my  head,  the  sign  token  for  medicine  and,  as  one  over 
awed,  softly  withdrew  from  inside  the  porch.  He  followed 
me,  and  I  called  out: 

"Don't  be  afraid.    We'll  get  you  out  of  this." 

With  a  grunt  of  rage  Le  Borgne  clapped  his  hand  over  my 
lips.  With  my  left  hand  I  repeated  the  medicine  sign,  and  with 
my  right  I  drew  my  gun  the  full  stretch  of  my  arm  until 
the  two  muzzles  rested  under  his  chin.  It  was  a  language  he 
readily  understood  and  he  stepped  clear  of  me. 

To  demonstrate  he  was  not  angry  he  patted  my  shoulder 
and  called  out  to  his  men,  evidently  telling  them  I  was  a 
brave  man.  I  remained  a  while  before  the  hut,  but  the  girl 
did  not  attempt  to  address  me  again,  nor  did  I  speak  to  her. 
I  was  interested  in  watching  Le  Borgne  whenever  he  glanced 
at  White  Snake.  It  was  then  that  the  hint  of  worry  showed 
between  his  eyes.  Gradually  the  conviction  formed  in  my 
mind  that  he  was  uneasy  over  the  Snake's  budget  of  news,  and 


LE  BORGNE  PLANS  A  FEAST  211 

was  wondering  who  the  strangers  might  be  whose  coming  so 
excited  his  deadly  enemies,  the  Sioux.  Or  perhaps  White 
Snake  had  told  him  who  they  were.  He  was  not  angry  at  the 
Snake,  and  yet  the  sight  of  him  brought  the  troubled  lines  in 
his  forehead.  It  was  refreshing  to  think  something  besides 
amorous  thoughts  were  inside  that  savage  brain-pan. 

I  turned  away  to  go  to  my  hut,  and  behind  me  sounded  the 
girl's  clear  voice  raised  in  her  indescribable  song  of  the  woods 
and  the  rivers.  The  effect  on  the  Minnetarees  was  pro 
nounced.  The  guards  glided  away  from  the  hut  and  betrayed 
agitation.  Le  Borgne  stood  with  folded  arms,  glaring  at  the 
rawhide  door  as  though  some  hostile  medicine  were  challenging 
him  to  open  it.  The  voice  rippled  on,  and  I  knew  its  pur 
pose  was  to  tell  me  she  had  not  lost  heart,  that  she  believed 
and  depended  on  the  Pillager  and  me.  Le  Borgne  remained 
rigid  for  a  few  moments,  then  took  a  step  forward.  I  shifted 
the  gun  over  my  left  arm,  and,  did  he  touch  the  door,  I  was 
ready  to  let  him  have  the  right  barrel.  But  with  one  foot 
inside  the  porch  he  halted.  The  voice  of  the  singer  climbed 
to  shrill  heights,  then  cascaded  down  to  a  low  colourful  tone 
which  was  sadly  sweet  and  infinitely  pathetic.  The  chief  drew 
back  his  foot  and  with  an  explosive  grunt  hastened  away.  I 
dropped  the  gun  to  my  side. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  I  called  out  to  her  as  she  ceased  her  sing 
ing.  This  time  no  one  attempted  to  stop  my  speaking  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES   THE  CALF*S  TAIL 

THE  village  was  quiet  and  I  remained  in  my  hut  until 
near  sundown,  then  ventured  forth,  anxious  for  the  re 
turn  of  Flat  Mouth.  If  he  had  had  no  mishaps  with 
hostile  Indians  he  should  make  the  trip  to  the  lower  Mandan 
village  quickly.  The  men  of  the  village,  as  was  their  custom, 
were  lounging  on  top  of  their  huts,  smoking  and  bragging. 
Their  arrogance  was  almost  past  belief.  They  believed  them 
selves  infinitely  superior  to  the  white  race.  They  had  seen 
but  few  whites,  and  these  they  looked  upon  as  partly  demented 
because  of  their  willingness  to  give  guns  and  ammunition  for 
such  worthless  things  as  hides  and  robes. 

But  this  sleepy  calm  was  destroyed  as  I  strolled  towards 
Choke-cherry's  hut  in  hopes  of  getting  a  word  of  encourage 
ment  to  the  girl.  One  moment  all  was  peace  with  even  the 
cur  dogs  silent,  the  next  shrill  screams  were  splitting  the  air 
and  warriors  were  dropping  from  their  huts,  snatching  up 
weapons  and  rushing  ahead  to  investigate.  The  savage's  first 
thought  was  a  surprise  attack.  I  ran  with  the  group  that  was 
making  for  Le  Borgne's  hut.  We  came  to  an  abrupt  halt  and 
beheld  a  strange  spectacle.  An  Indian  woman  with  blood 
streaming  from  her  arms  and  breast,  with  her  hair  matted  over 
her  face,  stood  under  the  porch  of  the  chief's  hut  and  was 
pouring  out  what  I  took  to  be  a  bitter  tirade. 

The  warriors  with  me  instantly  began  falling  back,  betray 
ing  every  symptom  of  fear.  I  held  my  ground,  curious  to  learn 
more.  The  woman  clenched  her  fists  and  swung  her  arms 
and  shrieked  out  her  words  in  a  steady  stream  until  the  door 
flew  open  and  Le  Borgne  stepped  out,  his  axe  in  his  hand. 

212 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     213 

He  was  smiling,  but  his  long  mane  of  black  hair  was  much 
dishevelled.  He  stood  before  the  woman,  and  I  fully  expected 
to  witness  another  murder.  She  ran  to  him  and  hissed  and 
spat  like  a  cat,  even  attempting  to  claw  his  face.  He  jumped 
away  from  her  and  walked  towards  the  corral ;  but  swift  as  a 
wild  thing  she  was  at  his  side,  then  ahead  of  him,  screaming, 
clawing  his  face  and  even  bringing  blood  to  his  brawny  chest. 

He  wheeled  to  one  side  to  avoid  her,  and  her  talons  ripped 
down  his  arm,  leaving  red  streaks.  Undoubtedly  it  was  the 
first  time  Le  Borgne  was  ever  blooded  without  striking  back. 
His  face  was  a  study  in  rage  and  fear.  Whichever  way  he 
turned  she  was  at  his  side  or  before  him,  her  tongue  never 
silent,  her  claws  ripping  at  his  arms  and  chest.  Knowing  his 
people  were  watching  him,  he  would  not  depart  from  his  dig 
nity  and  run  for  it. 

Never  once  did  he  threaten  violence,  even  to  the  extent  of 
pushing  her  away.  He  held  his  head  high  to  escape  her  hooked 
fingers,  but  beyond  fthat  he  did  not  try  to  defend  himself. 
Superstition  was  his  master,  and  he  knew  the  woman  was  de 
mented  and  believed  that  most  woful  would  be  his  fate  did  he, 
in  anger,  lay  the  weight  of  a  finger  on  one  touched  by  the 
Great  Spirit. 

He  began  working  his  way  back  to  his  hut,  jumping  from 
side  to  side,  but  never  increasing  his  pace  beyond  a  brisk  walk. 
Then  she  slipped  in  some  filth  and  fell,  and  he  seized  the 
opportunity  to  gain  his  hut.  She  was  at  his  heels  when  he 
entered,  but  the  door  slammed  before  she  could  follow  him. 
She  beat  on  the  door  with  her  fists  and  head  and  yelled  in  fury. 

None  of  the  warriors  ventured  to  remove  her.  They  had  re 
turned  to  their  roofs  and  were  eager  spectators  of  the  scene. 
I  pitied  the  poor  thing  and  finally  took  it  upon  myself  to  go 
to  her.  As  I  touched  her  on  the  shoulder  she  wheeled  on 
me  like  a  mad  wolf,  but  the  sight  of  a  white  instead  of  a  red 
man  seemed  to  calm  her.  She  made  no  resistance  when  I  took 
her  arm  and  gently  led  her  away.  She  went  willingly  enough, 
but  the  gaze  she  fastened  on  my  face  was  not  that  of  a  sane 
person. 


2i4  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

I  walked  with  her  through  the  village  at  random,  taking 
pains  to  widen  the  distance  between  us  and  the  chief's  hut.  At 
last  some  women  furtively  stole  from  cover  and  relieved  me  of 
her.  It  was  horrible  to  hear  her  heart-broken  moaning,  and 
I  lost  no  time  in  getting  it  out  of  my  ears.  In  my  haste  to 
escape  I  found  I  had  returned  to  Le  Borgne's  hut,  and  I 
waited  for  him  to  come  out.  He  preferred,  however,  to  be 
alone.  Perhaps  he  was  busy  rubbing  buffalo  tallow  on  his 
wounds. 

Feeling  faint  and  remembering  I  had  not  eaten  anything 
for  hours,  I  sought  out  the  hut  where  Choke-cherry  was  tem 
porarily  housed,  gave  him  an  inch  of  tobacco  and  motioned 
for  food.  He  gave  some  order  to  his  women  and  they  began 
overhauling  ancient  meats.  I  insisted  on  fresh  meat,  for  one 
end  of  the  hut  was  covered  with  buffalo  meat,  the  hunting  party 
had  brought  in.  This  had  not  had  time  to  spoil,  and,  after 
the  Minnetaree  and  Mandan  custom,  was  thrown  down  to 
grow  tainted.  I  picked  out  a  piece  and  put  it  in  a  copper 
kettle  and  the  women  proceeded  to  cook  it.  Then,  selecting  a 
fillet,  I  broiled  it  and  directed  a  woman  to  take  it  to  Miss 
Dearness.  On  a  small  stick  I  scratched : 

Fresh  meat.    Cooked  it  myself.    Keep  up  your  courage. 

FRANKLIN. 

This  message  I  sent  along  with  the  fillet.  I  knew  Choke- 
cherry  and  all  his  wives  were  despising  me  for  my  tastes  in 
insisting  on  fresh  meat,  but  I  remained  there  and  watched 
the  kettle  until  some  of  it  was  done  and  I  could  begin  eating. 
When  I  finished  I  had  had  the  only  satisfying  meal  since  reach 
ing  the  Missouri. 

Quitting  the  hut  I  walked  towards  the  Knife  and  was  re 
joiced  to  behold  Flat  Mouth  coming  on  the  gallop.  He  dis 
mounted,  removed  the  pack  of  robes  and  led  his  pony  to  the 
corral.  It  was  now  growing  dark,  and  all  the  warriors  had 
followed  their  chief's  example  and  were  inside  their  huts  for 
the  night.  As  we  carried  the  pack  to  our  hut,  I  briefly  nar 
rated  the  actions  of  the  demented  woman. 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     215 

"She  is  the  mother  of  the  woman  Le  Borgne  killed,"  he 
informed.  "They  talk  about  the  girl's  death  in  the  lower 
village  as  her  mother  was  a  Mandan.  No  matter  what  she 
says  or  does,  neither  Le  Borgne  nor  any  of  his  men  would 
dare  touch  her  so  long  as  she  is  under  the  protection  of  the 
great  manito.  But  others  had  better  keep  out  of  his  way,  for 
only  blood  will  satisfy  him  after  her  talk.  Now  I  have  a  big 
talk  for  you." 

We  entered  the  hut,  put  our  guns  aside  and  I  urged  him  to 
proceed.  First  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  extending  it  to  me, 
held  it  while  I  took  several  whiffs,  this  little  attention  being 
the  height  of  courtesy.  Then,  after  puffs  to  sky  and  earth  and 
the  four  wind-gods,  he  said — 

"The  strange  men  the  Sioux  talk  about  are  white  men." 

"White  men?  Then  they  must  be  Hudson  Bay  men,"  I 
exclaimed,  for  I  did  not  believe  the  N.  W.  or  the  X.  Y.  could 
be  sending  men  to  the  Missouri,  although  the  H.  B.  already 
had  done  so. 

"Not  traders.  They  carry  a  big  flag.  They  have  guns. 
The  lower  village  was  told  about  them  by  White  Snake.  Le 
Borgne  now  knows  white  men  are  coming  up  the  river." 

"What  do  you  think  about  them?" 

"The  white  woman's  medicine  brought  them,"  he  promptly 
declared.  "It  will  be  a  long  time  before  they  get  here " 

"Then  how  can  they  help  us,"  I  broke  in,  a  rude  breach  of 
etiquette  with  an  Indian. 

He  smoked  in  silence  for  a  good  five  minutes,  then  coldly 
resumed : 

"A  long  time  in  getting  here,  but  Le  Borgne  has  his  village 
here  and  can  not  change  it.  He  will  be  here  when  they  come. 
He  fears  they  are  friends  of  the  Sioux.  Big  medicine  for 
Medicine  Hair." 

This  time  I  waited  to  make  sure  he  had  finished,  then 
asked — 

"How?" 

With  the  utmost  gravity  he  replied: 

"The  white  woman  will  say  the  big  white  chief,  her  father,. 


2i6  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

comes  with  many  white  men.  Her  medicine  will  tell  her  in 
a  dream,  she  shall  say.  She  will  tell  it  to  the  Minnetarees.  Le 
Borgne  thinks  only  he  and  White  Snake  and  the  Mandans 
in  the  lower  village  know  about  the  white  man.  He  will  think 
it  big  medicine  if  she  dreams  it  and  tells  him." 

"Good !"  I  cried,  deeply  pleased  at  the  deception  Flat  Mouth 
had  so  adroitly  suggested.  "It  may  give  us  a  fighting  chance. 
Le  Borgne  is  in  a  bad  mind." 

"That  is  good!  He  will  not  have  time  to  think  of  a  new 
wife.  He  will  be  afraid  bad  luck  is  trailing  him.  He  will  be 
ripe  for  our  trade." 

"Is  that  all  Eshkebugecoshe  has  to  tell?" 

"On  riding  to  the  village  I  met  a  scout  of  the  Cheyennes. 
They  have  crossed  the  river  in  hope  of  falling  on  some  hunting 
party  before  going  home.  We  talked  in  the  sign-language.  I 
sent  a  sign-talk  to  the  Cheyenne  chief,  saying  we  would  leave 
here  with  the  medicine  woman  after  this  one  sleep.  I  said  I 
would  bring  the  Assiniboin  scalps  and  he  and  his  warriors  must 
be  ready  to  go  with  us  to  the  Mouse.  That  was  the  trade  we 
made  when  they  were  putting  presents  under  the  stem." 

This  would  make  it  the  following  night.  Well,  we  either 
would  go  or  we  wouldn't.  I  wrote  on  a  strip  of  bark: 

There  are  white  men  far  down  the  river.  Le  Borgne  is  much 
concerned.  He  does  not  know  whether  they  are  allies  of  the  Sioux  or 
not.  You  must  have  a  dream  to-night  that  the  white  men  are  led  by 
your  father,  the  big  white  chief,  that  they  are  coming  here  with 
many  guns,  that  worse  than  death  will  be  the  fate  of  anyone  who 
interferes  with  your  liberty,  let  alone  seeking  you  as  a  wife.  Flat 
Mouth  will  interpret  it  to  Le  Borgne. 

I  read  it  to  Flat  Mouth  and  he  smiled  appreciatively  and 
declared  my  "mystery  talk"  was  very  big  medicine.  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  met  any  Minnetarees  on  his  return  by  the  river 
road.  He  shook  his  head,  and  I  decided  that  for  twenty-four 
hours  at  least  Le  Borgne  would  not  know  he  had  been  to  the 
lower  village.  Thus  the  girl's  announcement  concerning  the 
.strangers  down  the  river  would  come  in  the  nature  of  a  dream- 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     217 

revelation  and  make  a  profound  impression  on  the  savage  chief. 
Whatever  the  supernatural  powers  had  to  report  to  their  red 
children  was  revealed  through  the  medium  of  dreams.  You 
could  never  make  Le  Borgne  believe  that  the  visions  seen  in 
sleep  were  not  veritable  views  of  the  unseen  world  wherein 
all  earthly  affairs  were  ordered  and  the  future  of  every  man 
foreseen. 

Taking  our  guns  we  made  our  way  through  the  darkness 
to  Choke-cherry's  hut  and  after  much  bother  got  him  to  open 
the  door.  We  would  have  proceeded  direct  to  the  girl's  hut 
if  not  for  the  guards  on  duty  there.  For  two  inches  of  to 
bacco  I  bribed  him  to  make  one  of  his  women  take  a  bowl  of 
fresh  water  and  bowl  of  corn  to  the  girl.  I  explained  to  him 
that  the  piece  of  bark  I  placed  on  the  corn  was  a  medicine 
to  make  her  hungry. 

The  Pillager  and  I  followed  the  woman  until  we  heard  her 
explain  her  errand  to  one  of  the  guards  and  the  door  open 
and  close  upon  her.  This  was  about  all  we  could  do  and,  as 
the  morrow  promised  to  tax  our  strength,  we  went  back  to  our 
hut  and  turned  in  for  a  few  hours'  sleep. 

With  the  first  grey  light  the  Pillager  aroused  me.  He  had 
procured  fresh  meat  from  some  of  the  hunters  and  hurriedly 
broiled  it  over  the  fire.  As  fast  as  a  portion  was  cooked 
enough  to  be  edible  he  cut  it  off  for  me  and  took  the  next 
slice,  practically  raw,  for  himself.  In  this  fashion  we  made 
a  hearty  meal  and  set  out  to  see  if  Miss  Dearness  had  com 
plied  with  my  directions.  As  we  came  in  sight  of  her  prison 
I  knew  she  had  acted  promptly,  for  the  guards,  four  of  them, 
were  grouped  before  something  hanging  on  the  outside  wall 
and  were  staring  at  it  curiously. 

The  savages  gave  way  sullenly  as  we  advanced  to  read  her 
message.  They  were  in  half  a  mind  to  order  us  back,  but 
Flat  Mouth  was  too  forbidding  to  be  hustled  about.  His 
statement  that  I  was  the  only  one  who  could  tell  what  was  in 
the  mystery  talk  afforded  them  an  excuse  for  permitting  us  the 
freedom  of  the  porch. 


218  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

Miss  Dearness  had  written  on  the  reverse  side  of  my  piece 
of  bark: 

People  of  the  Minnetaree,  and  the  Blind  One,  their  chief: 

In  the  night  dream  medicine  came  to  me.  I  saw  many  white  men 
with  many  guns  far  down  the  Missouri  coming  to  these  villages  of 
the  Mandans  and  the  Minnetarees.  I  saw  the  big  white  chief,  the 
greatest  of  all  traders,  leading  the  white  men.  I  saw  the  Sioux 
begging  him  to  stop  with  them.  He  is  too  strong  for  them  to  rob  or 
kill.  I  heard  him  tell  the  Sioux  he  was  coming  here  to  build  a  post 
because  the  white  woman,  Medicine  Hair,  is  here.  I  heard  him  tell 
the  Sioux  he  would  return  and  build  a  post  in  their  country  if  he  was 
not  treated  well  by  the  Minnetarees,  or  if  the  white  woman  had  not 
been  treated  well.  The  Sioux  begged  him  to  give  them  some  of  his 
many  guns,  and  he  told  them  they  should  have  them  if  the  white 
woman  was  troubled  in  any  way  by  Le  Borgne  or  his  people.  Le 
Borgne,  the  Blind  One,  the  dream  means  you  will  bring  the  Sioux 
against  you,  every  warrior  carrying  a  gun,  if  you  do  not  let  the  white 
woman  come  and  go  as  she  wishes,  and  if  you  do  not  tell  your  people 
there  will  be  no  feast,  no  new  hut. 

I  translated  it  hastily  to  the  Pillager,  and  his  eyes  glistened 
as  he  pronounced  it  good.  I  noticed  in  the  writing  what,  per 
haps,  he  did  not.  She  did  not  refer  to  herself  as  being  the 
daughter  of  the  mythical  big  white  chief.  I  had  made  much 
of  the  relationship,  taking  my  cue  from  Flat  Mouth.  She 
had  acquiesced  in  it.  Now,  apparently,  she  could  not  do  it, 
though  Red  Dearness  would  be  the  last  to  object  to  his 
daughter  using  any  subterfuge  to  cheat  an  Indian. 

Flat  Mouth  was  for  bringing  out  the  robes  and  placing  them 
on  sale  at  once.  I  advised  waiting  until  we  could  learn  the 
chief's  mood.  Flat  Mouth  then  asked  if  we  should  take  the 
writing  to  the  chief  now.  Again  I  was  for  delay.  To  my 
way  of  thinking  the  girl's  "dream"  should  be  announced  to  Le 
Borgne  at  a  psychological  moment,  at  some  time  during  the 
sale  of  the  robes.  I  knew  the  fellow  well  enough  to  realize 
that  he  could  not  be  forced  into  any  decision.  The  pressure 
must  be  applied  gradually;  the  effect  must  be  accumulative; 
then,  if  we  could  bring  him  to  a  pitch  where  he  wavered,  the 
girl's  revelation  should  be  used  as  the  last  straw.  The  Pil 
lager  was  good  enough  to  proclaim  my  reasoning  sound,  only 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     219 

he  destroyed  all  compliment  in  his  speech  by  adding  that  it 
was  the  white  woman's  medicine  working  through  my  tongue. 

We  stepped  clear  of  the  porch  and  were  about  to  return  to 
the  hut  and  our  pack  of  robes,  when  again  I  heard  that  fear 
ful  screaming.  The  guards  scurried  to  less  exposed  positions; 
even  the  Pillager  betrayed  concern.  The  screaming  grew 
louder  and  the  Pillager,  too  proud  to  run  and  hide,  flattened 
himself  against  the  wall  of  the  hut  and  stared  uneasily  at  the 
pitiable  figure  now  appearing  from  between  two  huts. 

Le  Borgne's  demented  mother-in-law  was  a  sorry  sight  as  she 
passed  us,  tossing  her  hands  and  tearing  at  her  hair.  Since  her 
last  appearance  she  had  slashed  herself  with  a  knife,  for  she 
was  bleeding  from  several  fresh  wounds.  She  walked  with 
her  head  thrown  far  back,  yet  she  neither  stumbled  nor  fell 
nor  wandered  from  the  middle  of  the  narrow  way.  This  to 
the  Pillager  was  simply  another  proof  that  she  was  under  the 
direct  control  of  the  great  manito.  She  was  making  straight 
to  Le  Borgne's  hut.  As  soon  as  she  passed  a  hut  the  inmates 
would  emerge  and  climb  to  the  roof,  none  daring  to  follow  her. 
I  followed  her,  however,  and  for  this  reason  the  Pillager  fol 
lowed  too. 

We  halted  on  coming  in  sight  of  Le  Borgne's  porch  and 
were  just  in  time  to  see  the  war-chief  duck  inside.  The  wo 
man,  with  her  head  still  flung  back  and  her  gaze  directed  to 
the  heavens,  gave  an  ear-splitting  shriek  and  ran  forward. 
How  she  saw  him,  or  knew  he  had  retreated  into  the  hut  was 
a  mystery  to  me.  Nevertheless  she  did  know  and,  with  a 
maniacal  cry,  ran  on  to  the  porch  and  attempted  to  open  the 
door. 

After  several  minutes  of  furious  efforts  she  backed  away  and 
began  cursing  him : 

"Oh,  one-eyed  killer  of  women!  May  your  medicine  turn 
to  water !  May  the  Sioux  tear  out  your  heart  and  give  it  to  the 
dogs!"  she  screamed. 

The  Pillager  was  so  deeply  impressed  by  her  terrible  prayer 
that  he  interpreted  only  patches  of  it.  For  some  minutes  she 


220  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

carried  on  in  this  violent  fashion,  then,  with  a  despairing 
shriek,  she  turned  and  fled  swiftly  between  the  huts. 

"It  is  bad  to  have  such  words  spoken  against  you,"  gravely 
said  the  Pillager.  "Le  Borgne  may  say  he  doesn't  care,  but 
inside  he  is  very  much  afraid." 

The  more  frightened  the  Minnetaree  became,  the  better  the 
day  looked  for  us,  and,  feeling  almost  optimistic,  I  led  the 
way  to  Choke-cherry's  hut  and  cooked  some  meat  and  sent  it 
to  Miss  Dearness.  Despite  his  hearty  meal  at  our  hut  the 
Pillager  broiled  for  himself  several  slices  of  meat  and  de 
voured  them  voraciously.  When  he  had  finished  I  said  I  was 
ready  to  offer  the  robes.  To  my  surprise  he  objected. 

"The  white  woman's  medicine  is  working  through  the  mad 
woman,"  he  insisted.  "Let  the  medicine  work.  We  will  wait. 
We  have  until  the  sun  goes  down.  My  blood  tells  me  some 
thing  is  in  the  air  that  will  make  this  day  remembered  among 
the  Minnetaree." 

"Do  you  think  the  woman's  people — she  being  a  Mandan — • 
will  make  trouble  for  Le  Borgne?" 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"They  are  dogs.  They  do  not  dare  lift  their  heads  when 
he  looks  at  them.  They  will  say  she  took  a  Minnetaree  man 
and  now  belongs  to  that  tribe;  that  the  daughter,  the  dead 
woman,  is  a  Minnetaree.  We  will  climb  on  a  hut  and  watch 
what  comes  next." 

This  we  did,  selecting  the  hut  we  were  in.  Some  thirty 
warriors  were  already  there.  They  respectfully  made  way  for 
the  Pillager,  and  we  took  a  position  facing  Le  Borgne's  hut. 

We  sat  there  but  a  few  minutes,  smoking  our  pipes  and 
watching  the  curious  groups  dotting  the  surrounding  roofs, 
when  we  observed,  off  to  our  left,  a  commotion  among  the 
spectators.  They  were  swarming  to  the  south  side  of  the 
roofs,  craning  their  necks  and  keeping  very  quiet. 

"She  is  coming  again,"  whispered  Flat  Mouth,  putting  up 
his  pipe.  "She  is  like  a  ghost  that  can  not  find  sleep." 

As  the  guttural  chatter  on  the  roofs  subsided,  I  heard  her 
voice  wailing  in  a  low-pitched  key  as  she  once  more  was  im- 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     221 

pelled  to  make  the  rounds  of  the  village.  We  could  trace  her 
progress  by  watching  the  people  on  the  roofs.  Then  the  moan 
ing  undertone  leaped  high  like  heat-lightning  as  she  flayed  Le 
Borgne,  using  terms  that  would  bring  death  to  any  other  in  the 
five  villages. 

She  denounced  him  as  a  stealer  of  women,  as  a  killer  of 
women.  These  accusations,  especially  the  first,  might  be  easily 
overlooked,  even  accepted  as  something  complimentary.  But 
when  she  added  he  was  a  coward,  that  the  sight  of  a  man's 
blood  made  him  sick,  that  he  dared  not  leave  his  hut  unless 
surrounded  by  many  braves,  the  effect  was  quickly  registered 
inside  the  hut.  He  began  bellowing  in  terrible  rage,  and  the 
warriors  on  the  roofs  began  shifting  their  positions  so  they 
might  not  be  so  prominent  when  he  showed  himself.  Those  re 
maining  on  the  ground  scurried  to  climb  up  on  the  huts,  or 
ran  for  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 

Flat  Mouth  breathed  with  a  hissing  sound,  as  he  read  these 
signs  of  fear,  and  whispered — 

"They  are  afraid  to  meet  their  chief  when  he  comes  out!" 

For  fully  ten  minutes  the  woman  kept  up  her  vilification, 
her  tongue  never  ceasing,  her  bitterness  never  losing  its  acid 
edge ;  then,  as  she  had  done  before,  she  turned  and  ran  swiftly 
away.  Some  women  darted  from  a  hut,  seized  her  and  induced 
her  to  go  with  them.  Chief  of  the  Wolves  dropped  from  a 
roof  and  ran  to  his  uncle's  hut  announcing  her  departure. 
The  door  flew  open  with  a  smash,  and  the  chief  jumped  out. 
Chief  of  the  Wolves  disappeared  between  two  huts  after  one 
glance  at  the  man's  face. 

Le  Borgne  was  frightful  to  behold.  To  me  he  seemed  to  be 
as  insane  as  the  woman.  He  had  thrown  aside  his  cloak  and 
wore  only  his  breech-clout,  his  long  coarse  hair  enveloping  him 
like  a  shaggy  cloak.  His  gigantic  body  trembled  and  shook. 
Standing  before  his  porch,  he  crouched  low  and  began  jerking 
his  axe  up  and  down  by  the  wrist-thong,  all  the  time  twisting 
his  head  back  and  forth  to  rake  the  village  with  his  baleful 
glance.  Then  straightening  and  lifting  his  arms  above  his  head, 
he  emitted  a  bull-like  roar  and  smashed  his  axe  against  the 


222  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

long  platform  filled  with  driftwood.  He  was  praying  for  an 
enemy  to  appear — someone  he  could  vent  his  blood-lust  upon. 

"He  goes  mad  like  the  woman,"  murmured  the  Pillager, 
his  hands  twitching  as  he  crouched  on  the  edge  of  the  hut 
and  glared  down  at  the  chief.  He  reminded  me  of  a  Red  River 
lynx  on  a  bough  about  to  leap  on  its  prey. 

"He  asks  his  manito  to  send  him  something  he  can  fight  and 
kill.  It  would  be  a  good  coup  to  take  his  scalp !" 

"It  would  mean  death  for  the  white  woman  and  for  us,"  I 
sternly  rebuked,  fearing  lest  he  seek  to  test  his  strength  against 
Le  Borgne's. 

"Not  if  it  is  her  medicine  working  through  him  as  it  is  work 
ing  through  the  woman,"  he  muttered,  licking  his  lips  wolf- 
ishly  and  craning  his  neck  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  chief. 

Le  Borgne  roared  even  more  loudly  and  without  cessation. 
It  was  just  a  bestial  cry  with  no  words  in  it.  As  he  howled 
his  horrible  yearning  for  battle  his  arms  kept  up  a  violent  gestic 
ulation,  and  the  men  on  the  huts  crept  to  the  opposite  sides  so 
as  to  remain  unseen.  The  Pillager  and  I  remained  where 
we  were. 

"Ho!"  grunted  the  Pillager,  smiling  savagely.  "Very  soon 
I  must  fight  that  man  because  he  will  have  it  so.  They  say 
he  can  fight  good.  I  will  wear  a  painted  hand  on  my  arm 
after  we  get  back  to  the  Red  River  to  show  I  dodged  under  his 
axe  and  struck  him  with  my  empty  hand  on  the  arm  before 
killing  him." 

"Are  you  going  mad?  Are  you  a  foolish  man?"  I  cried. 
"You  say  it  is  the  woman's  medicine  working;  then  let  it  work. 
It  has  not  asked  you  to  do  anything." 

"Watch !"  hissed  the  Pillager,  balancing  on  the  edge  of  the 
roof.  What  I  saw  gave  me  hope  that  the  grim  pantomime  was 
ended,  for  Le  Borgne  suddenly  darted  back  into  his  hut. 

"He  will  stay  hidden  until  the  woman  comes  and  makes 
him  a  madman  again,"  I  said. 

But  the  Pillager  seemed  abnormally  contented  as  he  kept  his 
eyes  fastened  on  the  closed  door;  his  hands  no  longer  twitched. 
Before  I  had  time  to  wonder  at  this  marked  change  in  his 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     223 

demeanour,  the  door  of  the  hut  flew  open  again  and  now  Le 
Borgne  was  wearing  his  robe.  The  Pillager  gathered  his  heels 
under  him  and  slipped  his  hand  through  the  noosed  thong  of 
his  war-axe.  He  said — 

"Watch!" 

Stalking  a  few  rods  from  his  hut,  Le  Borgne  raised  his 
mighty  voice  in  a  war-cry  and,  catching  the  robe  with  his  left 
arm,  he  swung  it  round  his  head  and  hurled  it  aside.  It 
opened  and  caught  the  wind  and  fluttered  like  some  monster 
moth  to  the  ground. 

"He  has  cast  his  robe!  The  white  woman's  medicine  has 
made  him  cast  his  robe,"  softly  rejoiced  the  Pillager.  "Now 
he  is  under  vow  to  his  manito  to  kill  the  first  person  he  meets, 
man,  woman,  or  child,  that  doesn't  belong  to  his  tribe.  All 
the  village  knows  it,  and  the  Minnetarees  will  stay  in  hiding, 
although  his  vow  does  not  mean  he  will  kill  any  of  them.  You 
and  the  chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas  are  not  of  his  tribe." 

Now  the  muscles  of  his  arms  and  legs  were  knotting  in 
bunches,  then  relaxing  and  rippling  smoothly  as  he  prepared 
to  leap  to  the  ground  and  have  at  the  brute. 

I  grasped  his  arm  and  warned: 

"You  must  not  do  it.  The  white  woman's  medicine  does 
not  call  you  to  fight  him." 

Le  Borgne  raised  his  war-cry  and  began  stalking  the  empty 
spaces  between  the  huts  in  search  of  a  victim  to  satisfy  his  vow. 
Doors  slammed  throughout  the  village  and  the  men  on  the 
roofs  lay  flat  and  hidden  from  view,  although  a  Minnetaree 
should  have  had  no  cause  for  fear.  Le  Borgne  doubled  over 
and  shook  out  his  hair  and  danced  from  side  to  side,  the  silence 
of  the  people  permitting  the  thud-thud  of  his  stamping  mocca 
sins  to  be  plainly  audible. 

"He  has  said  it!  He  cries  for  blood!  He  dances  for  death! 
The  Medicine  Hair's  manito  makes  him  do  it.  Her  manito 
pushes  me  to  him.  I  will  go  and  kill  him!"  snarled  the  Pil 
lager,  striving  to  cast  off  my  grip. 

"You  will  kill  us  all,"  I  cried,  feeling  my  hold  breaking. 

"I'll  kill  Le  Borgne  who  has  cast  his  robe,"  panted  the  Pil- 


224  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

lager.  Then  he  raised  the  war-cry  of  his  tribe  and,  wrenching 
loose,  dropped  to  the  ground. 

I  stood  up  intending  to  follow  him  and  make  sure  with  my 
gun  that  Le  Borgne  died  did  he  fight  with  my  friend,  when  I 
observed  the  Minnetaree  chief  had  shifted  his  course  so  as  to 
place  our  hut  between  him  and  the  Pillager.  I  looked  down 
on  the  Pillager,  and  he,  thinking  Le  Borgne  was  all  but  upon 
him,  was  shaking  out  his  Sioux  scalps  and  engaging  in  a  little 
ceremonial  dance  of  his  own,  brandishing  his  axe  most  adeptly. 
I  looked  back  after  Le  Borgne  and  saw  the  mad  woman  run 
ning  towards  him. 

It  was  a  tense  situation.  Le  Borgne,  bowed  low  and  intent 
on  his  grotesque  steps,  did  not  see  the  fury  approaching  him. 
The  Pillager,  with  a  segment  of  the  hut  between  him  and  his 
man,  was  conducting  his  advance  with  close  attention  to  ritual, 
never  dreaming  of  the  woman's  presence.  The  first  that  Le 
Borgne  knew  of  the  woman  was  when  she  grabbed  him  by  the 
hair.  With  a  roar  he  straightened,  swinging  her  feet  off  the 
ground  and  raising  his  axe.  She  screamed  vituperations  and  fell 
back  to  the  ground  with  both  hands  filled  with  hair.  Le  Borgne 
recognized  her  in  time  to  save  himself  from  a  hideous  crime — 
the  killing  of  one  under  the  Great  Spirit's  protection. 

With  a  shout  of  rage  and  fear  he  leaped  back.  She  was  at 
his  face  again,  and,  for  a  second,  I  believed  he  would  brain 
her.  Then  his  arms  dropped  to  his*side  and  he  turned  his 
back  on  her.  She  caught  his  long  hair  and  began  tearing  it  out, 
making  terrible  animal  cries  as  she  did  so.  He  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  her  and  did  not  seem  to  sense  her  presence,  but  swung 
his  axe  and  hurled  it  high  over  the  nearest  hut,  and  then  strode 
rapidly  to  his  own  hut  with  the  woman  worrying  his  neck  and 
hair.  She  released  him  as  he  reached  his  porch.  He  went  inside 
and  closed  the  door. 

I  looked  about  for  the  Pillager  and  beheld  him  standing 
with  folded  arms,  disgustedly .  watching  the  anti-climax.  I 
dropped  down  beside  him  and  exclaimed — 

"He  didn't  kill  her!" 

"He  could  not  kill  her,"  he  growled.    "She  has  been  touched 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     225 

by  the  big  manito.  No  one  can  hurt  her,  no  matter  what  she 
does.  Her  coming  was  bad  medicine  for  my  coup.  Had  I  seen 
her,  I  would  have  reached  him  first ;  then  his  heart  would  have 
been  glad  and  his  axe  would  have  sang  a  song  as  it  hissed  against 
mine.  Yet  it  could  not  kill  her,  although  she  is  not  of  his  peo 
ple" — and  he  made  the  spiral  sign  with  his  finger —  "so  his 
vow  is  broken.  He  cast  his  robe  for  nothing,  and  that  is  very 
bad  medicine  for  him,  but  not  so  bad  as  if  he  stuck  his  axe  in 
the  woman's  head.  A  strong  medicine  has  shown  him  he  can 
not  always  do  as  he  promises.  But  it  is  very  bad  not  to  keep 
a  vow.  It  will  hurt  him  with  his  people  unless  he  can  get 
some  good-luck  medicine.  The  medicine  of  the  white  woman 
works  against  him  all  the  time." 

"He  must  have  seen  you,  yet  he  did  not  offer  to  fight  you," 
I  said. 

"Why  should  he  fight  me?"  asked  the  Pillager  in  surprise. 
"He  had  no  fight  with  me  except  as  my  coming  let  him  make 
good  his  promise.  When  the  woman  reached  him  first  his  vow 
was  spoiled ;  he  had  no  promise  left,  so  he  threw  away  his  axe 
to  tell  everyone  the  vow  was  dead.  But  it  is  very  bad  for 
him."  There  was  almost  a  touch  of  sympathy  in  the  Pillager's 
voice  as  he  said  the  last. 

"How  long  must  we  wait  before  we  show  the  robes  and 
offer  to  trade?"  I  asked. 

"Now  is  a  good  time.  Le  Borgne  knows  bad  luck  is  biting 
his  heels.  He  is  afraid  that  everything  is  against  him.  He 
needs  a  strong  medicine.  He  is  not  thinking  of  feasts  and  a 
new  wife." 

It  was  pleasant  to  get  into  action  again.  As  we  passed  the 
girl's  hut  I  called  out  to  her,  and  she  opened  the  door  a  crack 
and  spoke — 

"Can  we  do  it  to-night?" 

Owing  to  the  fear  and  confusion  over  Le  Borgne's  behaviour 
we  could  have  done  it  then  if  we  had  had  her  at  the  corral. 
The  guards  about  her  hut  were  still  in  hiding. 

"It  must  be  to-night  if  I  fail  in  what  I'm  about  to  try.  I 
am  going  to  offer  to  buy  you  first." 


226  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"Buy  me?"  she  faintly  repeated.    "But  you  have  no  goods." 

"If  I  fail  we  will  get  away  to-night,"  I  comforted.  "When 
I  call  your  name  step  to  the  door  and  touch  the  writing  on  the 
bark,  then  get  back  out  of  sight." 

At  this  point  Chief  of  the  Wolves  ran  up  and  reminded 
that  we  were  not  to  talk  with  the  white  woman.  However, 
he  was  very  civil  about  it  and  displayed  no  arrogance.  His 
gaze  rested  on  the  Pillager  with  a  sort  of  worshipful  admira 
tion,  and  he  added : 

"I  saw  the  Chippewa  chief  drop  to  the  ground.  I  thought 
he  was  about  to  drop  into  Le  Borgne's  arms.  What  a  battle 
that  would  have  been !" 

"Not  a  long  battle — just  a  cracked  skull  and  the  Minne- 
tarees  would  have  to  look  for  a  new  war-chief,"  calmly  retorted 
the  Pillager. 

Now  old  Choke-cherry  came  trotting  up,  his  broad  face  pic 
turing  deep  trouble. 

"I  have  been  to  see  my  brother,"  he  whispered.  "Bad  spirits 
are  around  him.  Never  before  has  a  Minnetaree  chief  cast  his 
robe  and  not  done  as  he  said." 

"He  needs  new  medicine,"  I  advised. 

"He  will  give  many  ponies  for  a  new  medicine,"  eagerly 
cried  Choke-cherry.  "Has  the  white  man  some  magic  he  will 
trade  for  ponies?" 

"I  have  some  medicine  I  will  trade,"  I  replied.  "I  don't 
know  whether  I  will  trade  for  ponies,  or  robes,  or  something 
else.  It  is  a  very  strong  medicine  and  will  kill  all  bad  luck,  but 
I  will  not  trade  it  for  poor  ponies.  I  want  ponies  such  as  the 
Cheyennes  have." 

Choke-cherry's  face  showed  great  fear.  If  he  told  this  to 
his  brother,  the  chief  would  bitterly  upbraid  him  for  not  turning 
over  the  two  Assiniboins  to  the  Cheyennes  for  the  ten  ponies 
offered. 

"We  have  many  good  robes,"  he  cried.  "Let  the  white  man 
bring  out  his  medicine.  I  will  tell  the  village  to  be  ready  to 
trade.  If  the  medicine  is  new  and  strong  and  will  help  the 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     227 

heart  of  Le  Borgne  to  grow  stout  again,  and  his  head  to  grow 
clear  again,  we  will  give  every  robe  in  the  five  villages." 

"We  will  see,"  I  carelessly  answered,  walking  away. 

"Now  is  the  time,"  muttered  Flat  Mouth  as  I  hurried  to 
get  the  pack. 

"The  best  of  times,"  I  rejoiced.  "Le  Borgne  is  afraid  his 
buffalo  manito  has  lost  its  strength.  He  cast  his  robe  and  made 
himself  a  foolish  man.  The  villages  will  think  his  war  medi 
cine  is  spoiled.  He  must  get  good-luck  medicine,  or  else  there 
will  be  a  new  war-chief. 

The  Pillager  well  understood  the  method  of  offering  a  white 
robe  for  sale  and  undertook  charge  of  the  arrangements.  Two 
upright  stakes  were  placed  before  the  door  of  the  hut  facing 
Miss  Dearness's  prison.  Across  these  supports  he  placed  a 
third  stake.  The  open  space  before  the  hut  was  packed.  The 
roofs  of  the  surrounding  huts  were  covered  with  the  curious. 
The  Pillager  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  indulge  in 
oratory.  By  his  touching  his  axe  and  the  Sioux  scalps  I  knew 
he  was  declaiming  his  greatness,  and,  as  all  must  have  known 
of  his  willingness  to  fight  Le  Borgne,  he  was  heard  with  the 
deepest  respect  and  attention.  But  when  he  reached  behind  him 
and  fumbled  with  the  cords  of  the  pack  and  continued  his  talk 
his  audience  smiled  skeptically. 

He  paused  and  said  to  me  in  Chippewa : 

"I  have  told  them  we  never  bother  to  trade  in  anything  but 
white  robes.  I  have  said  we  carry  a  pack  of  them  with  us 
wherever  we  go  but  never  offer  to  trade  unless  we  see  some 
thing  we  want  very  much.  These  dogs  think  my  tongue  is 
crooked."  Then,  picking  up  the  robe,  he  flung  it  over  the  cross- 
piece. 

A  shout  of  amazement  greeted  the  appearance  of  the  robe. 
Choke-cherry  exclaimed — 

"The  Sioux-killer  spoke  with  a  straight  tongue!" 

Flat  Mouth  angrily  cried  out — 

"Did  you  think  a  chief  of  the  Pillager  Chippewas,  wearer 
of  many  eagle  feathers,  would  come  to  the  Missouri  to  tell 
lies  to  hut  Indians?" 


228  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

"It  is  a  fine  robe.  We  will  buy  it,"  declared  Chief  of  the 
Wolves. 

Ignoring  him,  Flat  Mouth  reached  into  the  pack  and  drew 
out  another  robe  and  threw  it  over  the  first.  Choke-cherry 
was  inarticulate  for  several  minutes.  Admiration,  awe,  and 
covetousness  were  reflected  in  the  disjointed  outcries  of  the 
Minnetarees.  When  Choke-cherry  recovered  speech  it  was  to 
proclaim  hoarsely: 

"Better  medicine  was  never  brought  to  a  Minnetaree  village 
in  my  day.  Chippewa,  Sioux-killer,  set  your  price.  We  will 
buy  the  robes." 

"They  are  not  mine  to  sell,"  informed  Flat  Mouth,  drag 
ging  forth  the  third  robe  and  draping  it  over  the  others  so 
the  three  tails  hung  in  a  row. 

"They  are  common  robes  coloured  with  white  earth,"  accused 
Chief  of  the  Wolves,  crowding  forward  and  clutching  roughly 
at  the  top  robe.  But  as  his  fingers  encountered  the  fleece  and 
his  suspicious  gaze  failed  to  find  any  trace  of  a  deception,  his 
jaw  grew  slack  and  he  stared  stupidly  at  the  treasure.  "My 
uncle  speaks  true,"  he  faltered.  "We  will  buy  them  if  it  takes 
all  the  robes  in  all  the  villages." 

Through  the  Chippewa  I  repeated  what  I  already  had  said 
to  Choke-cherry;  namely,  that  while  I  did  not  care  to  take 
the  white  robes  with  me  on  leaving  the  village,  I  had  seen 
nothing  yet  for  which  I  would  trade.  Whatever  it  was  it 
must  be  of  the  best.  I  was  not  even  prepared  to  say  I  would 
take  robes,  ponies,  dressed  leather,  or  a  combination  of  such 
goods  in  payment.  I  would  display  the  robes  and  see  what  the 
Minnetarees  had  to  offer.  If  I  found  something  to  my  liking 
I  would  trade. 

"So  be  it!"  howled  old  Choke-cherry.  "Take  what  you 
will.  We  can  get  more.  But  never  was  such  a  chance  to  get 
medicine  robes.  I  will  give  my  medicine-pipe.  It  is  a  great 
mystery — very  strong  medicine." 

"Yet  it  could  not  make  the  Cheyennes  lead  their  ponies  under 
the  stem,"  sneered  Flat  Mouth. 

"The  village  shall  buy  them  and  give  them  to  our  chief, 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     229 

so  his  bad  luck  may  grow  red  again,"  said  Chief  of  the 
Wolves. 

"The  Blind  needs  much  medicine  to  make  him  open  his 
one  eye,"  ironically  remarked  Flat  Mouth. 

No  one  heeded  this  derisive  speech,  for  a  mighty  trade  had 
come  to  the  Missouri  and  must  be  completed.  Grunts  and 
yelps  arose  when  the  Pillager  produced  the  fourth  and  last 
of  the  robes  and  hung  it  in  place. 

"It  is  magic!"  faltered  Choke-cherry,  edging  backward. 
"The  white  man  can  make  the  Sioux-killer  find  white  robes 
all  day." 

"If  it  is  magic  then  the  robes  will  turn  brown  after  they 
have  gone  away,"  said  Chief  of  the  Wolves. 

The  Pillager  smiled  scornfully,  saying — 

"You  talk  like  foolish  men." 

Raising  a  hand  in  silence  and  attention,  he  dipped  into  the 
pack  for  the  last  time  and  reverently  lifted  up  the  small  calf 
skin,  all  white  but  for  the  black  border  round  the  right  eye. 
This  he  exhibited  to  the  astounded  mob  and  then  gently  laid  it 
on  the  robes.  The  calfskin  was  much  more  valuable  than  the 
robes. 

The  deep  silence  which  followed  this  climax  was  broken  by 
the  Pillager  announcing — 

"This  is  all  we  bring  this  time." 

"You  said  you  had  nothing  to  trade,"  gasped  Choke-cherry. 

"I  always  have  something  to  trade  when  I  think  there  is 
something  worth  trading  for,"  I  corrected.  "My  medicine 
has  told  me  in  my  sleep  that  I  could  make  a  good  trade  here. 
I  am  waiting  to  see  what  my  medicine  meant." 

Men  darted  away  to  inform  Le  Borgne  of  the  powerful 
medicine.  Others  scoured  the  village  to  round  up  property. 
A  scene  of  amazing  activity  followed.  In  a  short  time  seven 
horses  were  brought  up,  each  loaded  with  robes,  dressed  leather, 
moccasins  and  embroidered  leggings.  Without  bothering  to 
glance  at  this,  the  first  bid,  the  Pillager  shook  the  calf's  tail 
as  a  sign  of  refusal. 

Choke-cherry  dashed  frantically  among  the  men  and  hooted 


230  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

long-winded  speeches  to  which  no  one  seemed  to  pay  any  atten 
tion.  He  was  exhorting  them  to  greater  efforts  in  syndicating 
their  goods.  As  proof  of  his  own  desire  to  help  win  the  miracle 
for  the  good  of  the  village,  he  brought  out  his  medicine-pipe, 
newly  decorated  with  feathers  and  hairs.  The  horses  and  truck 
were  left  at  one  side,  and  the  warriors  separated  to  round  up 
more  collateral. 

A  warrior  returned  from  Le  Borgne's  hut  saying  the  chief 
wished  the  robes  to  be  bought  in  with  no  delay  and  delivered 
to  him.  After  receiving  them  he  would  come  out  and  see  his 
people.  I  fancied  that  in  each  mind  was  the  fear  that  unless 
the  robes  were  delivered,  per  request,  he  would  come  out  any 
way,  to  see  his  people,  and  would  come  with  his  wrist  thrust 
through  the  loop  of  his  war-axe.  Seven  more  horses  were 
brought  forward,  this  time  the  pick  of  the  herd,  and  in  addi 
tion  to  the  robes  were  many  of  their  copper  kettles.  As  their 
superstition  forbade  them  cooking  meat  in  their  earthen  pots, 
the  offer  of  the  kettles  was  conclusive  proof  of  their  determi 
nation  to  procure  the  robes. 

Again  Flat  Mouth  shook  the  tail.  Again  the  Minnetarees 
scattered  for  more  goods.  Chief  of  the  Wolves,  I  noted,  darted 
away  toward  his  uncle's  hut,  and  with  my  gun  in  my  lap  I 
thereafter  kept  an  eye  out.  It  was  while  the  savages  were 
collecting  their  third  batch  of  goods  that  Le  Borgne  came  hur 
rying  toward  us,  his  nephew  walking  behind  him.  The  chief 
carried  his  axe.  He  had  been  told  the  robes  were  not  to  be 
bought  in  a  hurry  and  he  was  very  angry,  a  sullen  rage  that 
burned  on  top  of  his  former  wrath  when  he  was  compelled  to 
violate  his  vow.  He  wore  his  robe. 

The  Pillager  gave  me  a  quick  look,  and  I  patted  my  gun 
and  smiled  grimly.  If  Le  Borgne  attempted  to  get  the  robes  by 
casting  his  robe  again  and  slaying  the  first  alien  he  met,  he 
would  never  more  than  get  started  in  lifting  his  axe.  The  Pil 
lager,  who  was  naked  to  his  clout,  picked  up  his  robe  and  threw 
it  over  his  shoulder.  I  followed  his  example,  borrowing  one 
hanging  inside  the  porch  were  I  sat. 

Le  Borgne  grasped  the  significance  of  our  action  and  surr 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     231 

veyed  us  in  silence  for  several  moments  through,  his  smoldering 
eye,  his  ghastly  grin  making  him  look  like  a  death's  head. 

"The  day  is  warm,"  he  boomed,  slipping  off  his  robe  and 
giving  it  to  Chief  of  the  Wolves  to  hold. 

"It  is  very  warm  in  the  sun,"  agreed  the  Pillager,  dropping 
his  robe  to  the  ground.  I  was  glad  to  throw  mine  off. 

With  this  unspoken  agreement  that  there  should  be  no  casting 
of  robes,  the  chief  took  time  to  sweep  his  eye  over  the  horses 
and  goods  and  the  white  robes  and,  more  precious  than  all,  the 
calfskin.  His  voice  was  unsteady  as  he  asked — 

"Where  did  the  white  man  get  these  medicine  robes  and  the 
hide?" 

"Far  from  here,"  I  briefly  replied. 

Le  Borgne  turned  on  his  people  and  warned: 

"This  is  no  time  to  bring  a  few  ponies.  This  is  a  big  medi 
cine  sale.  It  must  end  quickly.  Mighty  medicine  does  not 
like  to  be  hung  out  in  the  sun  waiting  for  a  buyer — "  Then  to 
me,  the  Pillager  interpreting — "Go  to  all  the  Minnetaree  huts 
and  take  all  you  find,  save  only  that  one  hut."  And  he  pointed 
to  where  the  girl  was  imprisoned. 

He  was  practically  offering  all  movable  property  in  the  vil 
lage.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  he  would  have  thrown  in  the 
huts  if  we  had  had  a  way  to  take  them  with  us.  I  shook  my 
head.  The  Pillager  reached  down  and  wagged  the  tail. 

My  refusal  threw  the  chief  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  yet  he 
restrained  himself  and  said: 

"Go  to  all  the  Minnetaree  huts!  Go  to  all  the  Mandan  huts 
on  the  Missouri !  Take  what  you  will — all  the  ponies  you  will. 
If  any  Mandan  tries  to  stop  you,  tell  him  I  sent  you !" 

"My  medicine  tells  rne  it  is  not  robes  and  kettles  and  ponies 
I  want,"  I  replied.  "I  can  get  kettles  among  the  white 
people.  I  can  get  better  ponies  and  robes  among  the  Chey- 
ennes." 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  fiercely  demanded. 

"Miss  Dearness!"  I  called.  The  words  meant  nothing  to 
him,  but  at  the  sound  of  her  name,  the  girl  began  singing,  and 
the  door  of  her  hut  opened.  She  stood  there,  wrapped  in  her 


232  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

capote,  long  enough  to  touch  the  piece  of  bark  hanging  on  the 
wall.  Then  she  retired  and  closed  the  door. 

"My  medicine  tells  me  that  is  what  I  will  buy  with  my 
robes,"  I  said  to  Le  Borgne. 

Le  Borgne  swung  his  axe  and  roared  a  refusal. 

The  Pillager  spoke  to  Choke-cherry,  who  timidly  procured 
the  piece  of  bark  containing  the  girl's  writing  and  brought  it  to 
me.  I  motioned  for  Le  Borgne  to  give  heed,  and  proceeded  to 
read  the  message  very  slowly,  the  Pillager  interpreting  and,  of 
course,  embellishing  it  somewhat.  Le  Borgne  listened  atten 
tively,  after  the  first  few  words,  and  his  strong  face  grew 
uneasy  as  he  heard  the  girl's  "dream." 

She  had  seen  the  white  men,  many  of  them,  with  many  guns, 
coming  up  the  Missouri  to  the  Mandans  and  the  Minnetarees. 
The  whites  were  too  strong  for  the  Sioux  to  trouble.  It  jolted 
him  when  he  was  told  the  leader  of  the  whites  was  the  big 
white  chief  we  had  talked  so  much  about  since  reaching  the 
river.  His  face  lighted  when  he  was  told  the  white  chief  would 
build  a  post  in  the  village  because  Medicine  Hair,  the  white 
woman,  was  there.  And  it  grew  dark  as  night  when  he  was 
warned  what  would  happen  if  he  troubled  the  white  woman, 
or  limited  her  coming  and  going. 

"I  have  never  wanted  a  woman  I  did  not  take,"  he  roared. 

"If  her  father,  the  big  chief,  is  coming  with  many  guns  and 
men  I  do  not  need  to  buy  her,"  I  carelessly  said,  shifting  the 
position  of  the  calfskin  so  Le  Borgne  would  observe  the  black 
markings  round  the  right  eye. 

He  had  not  noticed  this  peculiarity  before,  and  for  the  mo 
ment  it  drove  all  thoughts  of  the  woman  out  of  his  head.  It 
was  his  right  eye  that  was  dead.  The  right  eye  of  the  medicine 
calf  was  circled  with  black,  denoting  death.  If  ever  a  manito 
sent  a  particular  medicine  to  a  great  warrior,  surely  thus  was 
the  skin  sent  to  Le  Borgne. 

"You  want  this  woman  for  your  woman?"  he  demanded. 
Of  course  the  girl  heard  the  Pillager  repeat  it  in  Chippewa, 
as  he  talked  loudly. 

"I  do.     That  is  why  I  offer  to  make  a  trade  for  her." 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     233 

"You  can  go  back  and  get  other  white  women.  There  are 
some  more?"  he  asked. 

"Many  of  them — more  than  there  are  Indian  women." 

He  laughed  aloud  at  such  an  exaggeration. 

"Why  do  you  want  this  one  when  you  can  get  so  many?  I 
want  her.  She  is  the  only  white  woman  I  have  seen.  If  there 
were  many  of  them  here  I  would  sell  her  for  a  pony." 

"If  there  were  many  of  them  here  you  could  not  get  the 
medicine  robes,"  I  retorted,  forced  to  play  the  game  according 
to  his  savage  viewpoint  and  hold  it  strictly  to  the  level  of  barter 
and  trade. 

"I  will  not  sell  her,"  he  growled.  His  brother  made  to  im 
plore  him  to  change  his  mind,  but  did  not  dare  go  beyond  a  few 
faltering  words.  The  warriors  looked  glum,  and  more  than 
one  angry  glance  was  cast  at  Miss  Dearness's  hut.  They 
wanted  to  see  their  chief  in  possession  of  the  robes.  To  murder 
us  and  appropriate  the  robes  would  be  a  violation  of  their 
etiquette  besides  being  sure  to  bring  down  retribution  upon 
them  in  some  way,  such  as  the  loss  of  a  trading-post.  Afraid 
as  they  were  of  their  leader,  I  could  see  some  of  them  thought 
he  was  paying  too  high  a  price  for  his  whim.  If  his  medicine 
suffered,  then  the  whole  tribe  suffered. 

I  spoke  to  the  Pillager.  He  gathered  up  the  robes  and  the 
skin  and  repacked  them,  with  the  calfskin  on  top,  the  black  eye 
showing.  While  Le  Borgne  had  refused  the  trade,  I  had  not 
lost  hopes  of  buying  the  girl.  His  refusal  was  to  prove  his 
independence,  and,  perhaps,  had  been  incited  by  a  glimpse  of 
the  girl's  white  face. 

Le  Borgne  stood  and  glared  at  us,  his  hands  fingering  his  big 
axe,  his  eye  observing  the  double-barrelled  gun  across  my  left 
arm. 

Deep  in  the  village  rose  a  dismal  chanting.  The  mother  of 
the  murdered  girl  was  abroad  again.  The  effect  on  Le  Borgne 
was  immediate.  His  eye  flickered  with  fear.  The  woman  was 
getting  on  his  nerves.  He  wished  himself  back  in  his  hut  with 
the  door  barred,  as  shown  by  his  instinctive  glance  in  that  direc 
tion.  Yet  he  could  not  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  a  hut.  It 


234  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

was  intolerable  to  anticipate  months  and  perhaps  years  of  the 
woman's  nagging — her  accusations  of  cowardice.  Let  even  a 
mad  woman  repeat  a  thing  long  enough,  and  he  would  lose 
something  of  his  standing  in  the  tribe.  While  he  must  not 
touch  her,  he  should  be  protected  by  his  medicine.  If  his 
medicine  was  spoiled  he  must  renew  it.  The  chanting  grew 
louder  and  clearer.  Miss  Dearness  also  heard  it,  for  she  now 
sang  out  to  me: 

"Choke-cherry's  wife,  when  bringing  me  meat,  said  the  crazy 
Mandan  woman  is  going  back  to  her  people  in  the  lower 
village." 

I  picked  up  the  calfskin  and  said  to  Le  Borgne : 

"I  think  you  are  a  foolish  man,  but  I  am  not  to  blame  for 
that.  I  am  angry  because  Chief  of  the  Wolves  spoke  evil  of 
my  medicine  robes  and  skin.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  the 
medicine  is  strong  in  this  skin.  You  shall  hold  it  in  your  hands 
until  the  crazy  woman  comes  and  goes.  Then  you  shall  give  it 
back  to  me,  and  I  will  take  my  pack  elsewhere  and  trade." 

He  seized  it  greedily  and  I  stood  aside  and  waited.  I  smoked 
and  tried  to  show  the  unconcern  I  did  not  feel.  I  had  acted  on 
an  impulse  set  in  motion  by  Miss  Dearness's  words.  I  also 
believed  I  could  detect  a  new  tone  in  the  poor  woman's  lament, 
the  quality  of  sadness  and  resignation.  The  people  stood  very 
quietly,  all  eyes  turned  to  where  the  Mandan  woman  would 
emerge  from  among  the  huts.  If  the  sight  of  the  chief  should 
inflame  her  mad  rage,  the  trade  value  of  the  white  calfskin 
would  greatly  depreciate.  In  that  event  we  would  make  a 
good  fight  of  it  that  night. 

Now  the  woman  appeared,  her  head  bowed  low,  her  chanting 
weirdly  depressing.  The  stage  was  well  set  for  her  coming. 
The  Minnetarees  fell  back  to  give  her  clear  passage  and  no  one 
spoke  nor  moved.  The  chief  and  I  stood  a  little  in  advance  of 
the  people,  he  standing  like  an  image,  holding  the  white  calf 
skin  in  his  two  hands,  his  axe  dangling  from  his  wrist,  his  one 
eye  fixed  on  the  woman. 

She  drew  close  and  I  believed  she  was  to  pass  by  without 
lifting  her  head,  but  the  steady  impact  of  Le  Borgne's  gaze 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     235 

caused  her  to  look  up.  For  a  moment  I  believed  she  was  going 
to  fly  at  him,  for  she  halted  and  stared  in  his  face.  Still,  there 
was  a  sane  light  in  her  eyes  now.  She  recognized  the  powerful 
medicine  he  was  holding.  The  silence  of  the  people  was  im 
pressive.  The  whole  affair  smacked  of  the  ritualistic.  Per 
haps  she  realized  she  had  a  leading  part  in  it,  and  must  not 
destroy  the  symmetry  of  the  whole.  Or  the  poor  thing  may 
have  been  just  heartbroken  and  only  anxious  to  get  back  to  her 
people  in  the  lower  village.  Whatever  the  influence  that  kept 
her  subdued,  she  gazed  for  a  moment  into  the  brute's  face,  then 
dropped  her  head,  resumed  her  chanting  and  walked  on  toward 
the  river  road. 

I  plucked  the  skin  from  Le  Borgne's  hand  rather  briskly  and 
tossed  it  to  the  Pillager  to  replace  in  the  pack. 

"White  man,  wait!"  hoarsely  cried  Le  Borgne.  "Give  it 
back  to  me!" 

"You  will  trade?" 

"Take  the  white  woman !    Give  me  the  robes  and  the  skin !" 

"Miss  Dearness!"  I  called  out.  "Don't  come  to  the  door 
till  I  give  the  word.  Then  be  ready  to  ride.  I've  bought 
you !" 

I  nodded  to  the  expressionless-faced  Pillager  and  he  handed 
the  pack  over  to  Le  Borgne,  who  started  hurriedly  for  his  hut, 
hugging  his  new  medicine  close.  Old  Choke-cherry  yowled  in 
joy,  and  assured  me  such  a  medicine  feast  would  be  given  that 
night  as  never  was  before  enjoyed  by  the  Willow  Indians,  as 
the  Minnetarees  call  themselves.  I  did  not  seek  to  discourage 
him,  but  so  soon  as  the  Pillager  brought  the  horses  I  purposed 
to  start  for  the  Mouse  River.  Already  the  Pillager  was 
making  for  the  corral. 

Now  the  Minnetarees  had  a  despicable  custom  in  trade  of 
agreeing  to  a  bargain,  exchanging  goods,  pronouncing  them 
selves  perfectly  well  satisfied,  and,  after  an  hour  or  so,  coming 
back  and  demanding  that  their  property  be  returned  to  them, 
leaving  the  purchase  price  "on  the  ground"  as  they  say.  Flat 
Mouth  had  told  me  about  these  trade  tricks  by  which  they 
hoped  to  induce  the  trader  to  increase  the  price  first  agreed 


236  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

upon.  Not  once,  but  as  often  as  the  victim  will  endure  this 
insolent  disregard  of  the  bargain,  will  they  come  back  and  ask 
for  their  property  or  an  increase  in  goods. 

Whether  Le  Borgne  would  act  in  this  fashion  in  an  ordinary 
trade  I  did  not  know.  I  was  inclined  to  believe  he  would 
trade  fair,  but,  with  the  girl  as  the  stake,  the  temptation  would 
be  great,  once  he  got  over  his  first  enthusiasm  in  owning  the 
robes.  He  might  be  cunning  enough  to  believe  that  the  white 
skin  had  already  sent  the  Mandan  woman  from  his  village,  and 
that  she  had  seemed  to  be  the  source  of  his  annoyance  and 
trouble.  That  his  murder  of  the  younger  woman  was  back  of 
it  all  would  never  appeal  to  him. 

Soon  the  Pillager  came  back  with  the  horses,  riding  one  with 
his  gun  held  high,  his  bow  and  quiver  of  arrows  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his  other  hand  clutching  the  two  halter  ropes. 
He  was  closely  followed  by  a  crowd  of  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren.  Chief  of  the  Wolves  was  very  active  in  getting  in 
front  of  his  horse  and  causing  the  chief  to  rein  in.  I  stepped 
to  Miss  Dearness's  hut  and  spoke  her  name.  She  opened  the 
door  and  came  out,  her  head  closely  muffled,  her  face  very 
pale,  and  her  blue  eyes  blinking  at  the  sun. 

"I  saw  it  all,"  she  whispered.  "I  cut  a  hole  through  the 
hide-door.  It  was  brave  of  you,  wise  of  you.  I'm  so  glad  you — 
bought  me!" 

A  commotion  in  the  crowd  attracted  my  attention.  Chief 
of  the  Wolves,  sensing  our  purpose  and  seeking  to  delay  us,  had 
crossed  in  front  of  the  Pillager's  mount  once  too  often.  Struck 
by  the  horse's  shoulder,  he  had  been  hurled  to  one  side.  An 
angry  murmur  arose.  Flat  Mouth  brought  the  two  horses  to 
the  porch  and,  as  I  took  charge  of  them,  he  backed  his  horse 
violently,  splitting  the  mob  into  two  sections.  Then  he  brought 
his  animal  about,  faced  the  savages  and,  with  his  axe  held  out 
to  one  side,  he  leaned  forward  and  cried — 

"Do  you  want  to  see  a  Pillager  Chippewa  cast  his  robe?" 

Old  Choke-cherry  urged  the  men  to  give  us  room  and  not 
to  crowd  round  us  like  foolish  children.  Chief  of  the  Wolves 
crawled  to  his  feet  and  glared  murder  at  the  Pillager's  back. 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     237 

Then  he  glimpsed  me  with  the  double-barrel,  and  slunk  aside. 

"Make  a  hole  through  them,  Eshkebugecoshe !"  I  called  out, 
slapping  the  girl's  mount  and  sending  her  after  the  chief. 

Flat  Mouth's  horse  commenced  prancing  and  bolting  from 
side  to  side  as  though  unmanageable,  and  the  crowd  broke  and 
scattered,  some  diving  into  doorways,  some  running  in  between 
huts,  and,  as  the  way  cleared,  the  Pillager  advanced  with  the 
girl  close  behind  him.  I  came  last  with  my  gun  half  raised, 
watching  the  tops  of  the  huts  as  well  as  the  ground.  No  one, 
however,  made  any  active  demonstration  against  us.  We 
avoided  Le  Borgne's  hut  and  struck  north  for  the  Missouri. 
In  my  last  glimpse  of  the  Minnetarees  I  beheld  Chief  of  the 
Wolves  running  towards  Le  Borgne's  hut  with  old  Choke- 
cherry  bobbing  after  him. 

We  soon  made  the  Missouri,  and  Flat  Mouth  quickly  found 
a  bull-boat.  I  paddled  Miss  Dearness  across,  and  he  swam 
over  with  her  horse  in  tow.  Leaving  my  gun  with  her,  the 
Indian  and  I  went  back.  I  remained  in  the  boat  and  towed  my 
mount  over,  while  my  friend  repeated  his  feat  of  swimming. 

Flat  Mouth  said  three  days  of  ordinary  travel  would  take  us 
to  the  Coteau  du  Missouri,  the  high  ridge  separating  the  waters 
of  the  Missouri  and  the  Mouse,  but  believed  we  should  make  it 
easily  in  a  bit  less  than  that  as  we  had  no  pack  animals  and 
were  sacrificing  everything  for  speed. 

He  set  the  course  for  Miss  Dearness  and  me  to  follow  while 
he  rode  down  the  river  to  pick  up  the  Cheyennes.  The  girl  and 
I  had  not  gone  far  before  he  came  after  us  with  twenty  war 
riors.  They  would  go  with  us  to  the  Coteau,  he  said,  but  no 
farther,  as  our  line  of  flight  was  along  the  western  edge  of 
the  Sioux  territory.  When  I  asked  him  where  the  rest  of  the 
Cheyennes  were,  he  said  they  had  crossed  the  river  to  go  home, 
being  afraid  of  the  Sioux. 

Before  sundown  our  escort  abruptly  bid  us  good-bye  and  gal 
loped  madly  back  to  the  Missouri.  Perhaps  it  was  better  that 
way,  for  while  the  twenty  horsemen  gave  us  a  brave  appear 
ance,  they  also  furnished  a  large  target  for  a  Sioux  ej^e.  It 
would  be  necessary  for  them  to  delay  and  kill  meat,  and  our 


238  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

pace  would  be  much  slower  than  when  we  rode  alone.  That 
night  Flat  Mouth  used  his  bow  and  arrows  with  good  effect, 
and  we  had  fresh  meat. 

For  two  days  more  we  pushed  on,  watching  for  the  Assini- 
boins  on  the  west  and  ahead  of  us,  for  the  Sioux  on  the  east 
and  ahead  of  us.  Then  we  struck  the  ridge  and  beheld  a  high 
hill  which  Flat  Mouth  called  the  Dog's  House.  What  was 
most  encouraging  was  to  behold  the  banks  of  the  Mouse. 

That  night  as  we  sat  in  the  smoke  of  a  smudge  to  protect 
ourselves  from  the  mosquitoes  and  wearing  dressed-leather 
hoods  over  our  heads  as  an  additional  protection,  Miss  Dear- 
ness  coughed  and  choked  and  at  last  managed  to  say — 

"The  X.  Y.  will  pay  you  for  the  robes  and  skin  you  paid 
for  me." 

"Never,"  I  imperilled  my  lungs  by  replying.  "It's  the  only 
trade  I  ever  made  I  was  satisfied  with.  I've  only  one  thing  to 
regret." 

She  nodded  for  me  to  explain,  and  I  said — 

"Since  we  started  from  the  Missouri  you've  been  so  wrapped 
and  bundled  up  I've  forgotten  what  the  color  of  your  hair  is." 

Instantly  the  hood  flew  off,  the  capote  fell  back,  and,  in  de 
fiance  to  the  millions  of  mosquitoes,  the  red  glory  of  her  hair 
was  revealed.  With  a  yelp  of  protest  I  leaned  forward  to  aid 
in  adjusting  the  hood  and  the  capote  and,  losing  my  balance, 
would  have  made  clumsy  work  of  it  had  she  not  caught  my 
elbow  and  steadied  me  for  a  second. 

Flat  Mouth,  who  had  been  with  the  horses  to  see  that  the 
torture  inflicted  by  the  mosquitoes  did  not  stampede  the  ani 
mals,  now  drew  up  to  our  fire,  the  horses  crowding  in  behind 
him  to  get  into  the  smoke.  I  wanted  to  talk  with  the  girl — • 
to  have  her  talk  to  me,  and  yet  I  was  glad  he  came.  I  fired 
questions  at  him  to  keep  my  mind  from  her. 

We  learned  our  course  now  would  be  down  grade  and  over 
a  pleasant  country  with  no  obstacles  to  speak  of.  The  land  was 
dotted  with  small  hillocks  and  these  usually  were  covered  with 
buffaloes.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  mosquitoes,  the  trip  would 
have  been  very  comfortable.  Of  course  we  must  forever  be  on 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     239 

the  watch  against  the  Assiniboins  and  Sioux — and  also  against 
a  pursuing  party  of  the  Minnetarees.  The  latter  we  expected 
to  discover  at  any  time,  swarming  down  on  us  to  give  back  our 
robes  and  reclaim  the  girl.  Not  until  we  reached  the  ridge 
did  we  cast  them  out  of  our  fears. 

The  first  night  after  quitting  the  ridge,  when  a  fresh  wind 
had  blown  the  mosquitoes  away  and  we  were  bowing  our  heads 
over  our  cooking,  some  uncontrollable  impulse  seized  me  and 
mastered  me,  and  shortly  I  awoke  to  the  astounding  fact  that  I 
had  kissed  the  girl. 

She  made  no  move  of  resentment,  nor  said  any  word,  but 
put  on  her  dressed-leather  hood  and  glanced  at  me  reproach 
fully.  I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  strode  off  in  the  darkness, 
cursing  myself.  She  was  under  my  protection,  and  I  had  not 
supposed  my  three  years  in  the  wilds  had  so  entirely  wiped  out 
my  training.  I  can  see  now  I  was  unnecessarily  harsh  with 
myself,  that  I  was  young  and  meant  no  harm.  Still  I  took 
myself  to  task  seriously  enough  that  night.  When  I  went  back 
and  found  her,  still  hooded,  a  pathetic  and  lonely  little  figure, 
I  had  no  fine  words.  I  kicked  the  turf  and  did  manage  to 
blurt  out : 

"That  won't  happen  again.  Don't  bake  your  face  with  that 
hood."  With  that  I  went  over  by  the  horses  and  threw  myself 
down. 

Her  cold  voice  cut  like  a  knife  as  it  followed  me,  saying — 

"Having  bought  me,  I  suppose  you  believed  you  owned  me." 

I  groaned  and  dug  my  fingers  into  my  ears.  Before  I  slept 
that  night  I  knew  I  loved  her  and  had  spoiled  everything  by 
my  unpardonable  action. 

The  Mouse  was  conquered  and  we  passed  down  the  Assini- 
boin  in  two  canoes  obtained  from  Fort  Assiniboin.  I  pad 
dled  one,  and  she  and  Flat  Mouth  paddled  the  other.  I  had 
attempted  to  renew  our  old  footing  as  though  nothing  had  hap 
pened,  but  the  glance  she  gave  me  told  me  how  hopeless  it  was. 
After  that  I  met  her  only  as  we  landed  to  make  a  camp  at 
night,  and  then  only  as  we  ate  our  fish  and  meat.  She  no  longer 
eyed  me  coldly,  but  stared  at  me  without  seeming  to  see  me. 


24o  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

At  the  Forks  we  passed  the  camp  of  some  H.  B.  men  from 
the  Albany  factory.  I  waved  my  hand  but  did  not  turn  in  to 
join  them.  I  had  no  heart  for  companionship.  It  was  not 
until  I  was  some  miles  up  the  Red  that  I  observed  the  absence 
of  the  girl's  canoe.  It  came  in  sight  just  as  I  had  finished 
cooking  and  eating  a  fish  and  was  resuming  my  journey.  I 
knew  she  and  the  Pillager  had  turned  in  at  the  H.  B.  fire. 

I  forced  myself  to  think  of  old  Tabashaw  and  to  wonder  if 
the  old  rascal  had  succeeded  in  bullying  and  coaxing  all  the 
rum  from  Probos.  I  repeatedly  framed  my  report  to  the  Gen 
tlemen  of  the  North,  trying  to  excuse  my  absence  from  my  post 
and  explain  why  the  spring  hunt  had  resulted  in  a  failure. 

Then  it  came  over  me  and  nauseated  me — homesickness.  To 
remain  there  through  the  summer,  fall  and  winter,  and  to  see 
no  white  man's  smoke  until  the  next  summer  seemed  to  be 
more  than  I  could  endure.  All  the  way  up  the  river  I  fought 
it  over  with  myself.  Then  I  realized  how  silly  it  was  to  try 
to  keep  the  girl  from  my  thoughts.  I  loved  her.  I  would 
tell  her  so.  At  least  she  should  know  that  much  of  the  truth, 
even  though  she  laughed  at  me.  I  believed  I  would  feel  better 
if  I  humiliated  myself  to  her. 

So,  when  I  reached  the  stretch  below  the  X.  Y.  post  on  the 
Scratching,  where  poles  must  be  used  instead  of  paddles,  I 
stayed  in  camp  and  killed  time  until  she  and  the  Pillager  came 
up.  I  thought  she  wanted  him  to  go  on,  but  seeing  me,  he  was 
eager  to  land.  I  greeted  her  and  she  eyed  me  blankly.  I 
fidgeted  and  waited.  Then  I  could  not  endure  it  longer.  The 
Indian  was  some  rods  away,  roasting  some  meat.  I  made  sure 
of  my  position  in  my  canoe,  then  turned  to  her  and  said : 

"That  time — back  there — I  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't 
loved  you." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  she  politely  replied,  turning  and  walking 
to  the  fire. 

"I  won't  again,"  I  called  after  her,  cursing  myself  for  an 
addle-headed  lout. 

I  sent  my  canoe  into  the  stream  and  pitted  my  strength  and 
sleepless  mood  against  the  river  and  the  hours.  More  of  a 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     241 

ghost  than  a  man,  I  at  last  crawled  ashore  at  the  Pembina 
post  at  the  edge  of  evening. 

The  old  familiar  drunken  howls  saluted  me  from  the  fort. 
I  picked  up  two  oak  axe-helves,  where  some  of  the  drunken 
beggars  had  thrown  them,  and  tucked  them  under  my  arm. 
When  I  reached  the  stockade  gate  I  heard  old  Tabashaw  mak 
ing  a  drunken  speech  and  exhorting  his  tribesmen  to  enter  the 
fort,  find  Probos  and  drag  him  from  his  hiding  place  and  cut 
his  throat.  I  glanced  up  at  the  fort  windows  and  saw  Probos's 
fat,  greasy  face  flabby  with  terror.  Leaning  my  gun  against 
the  stockade,  I  took  an  oak  helve  in  each  hand  and  quietly 
stole  upon  the  gathering. 

Then  did  I  put  the  fear  of  the  manito  into  their  souls.  I 
waded  back  and  forth  cracking  heads  and  upbraiding  them  for 
worthless  dogs  and  concluded  by  getting  old  Tabashaw  by  the 
neck  and  kicking  him  outside  the  stockade.  Probos,  with  tears 
running  down  his  flaccid  face,  told  me  the  Indians  had  grown 
to  be  very  insolent ;  that  his  life  was  threatened  every  day.  No 
trade  had  been  brought  in,  as  none  of  the  hunters  had  gone 
out.  It  was  believed  the  Sioux  had  killed  me  and  the  girl  and 
the  Pillager.  On  the  morrow  Tabashaw  had  proposed  to  raid 
the  X.  Y.  post  down  the  river  and  secure  the  supply  of  liquor. 
Then  he  proposed  to  burn  all  posts  on  the  river. 

Next  morning  I  sent  Probos  back  to  the  Reed  River  and  had 
the  Indian  women  clean  up  the  fort.  I  assessed  every  hunter  in 
the  camp  with  a  debt  of  fifty  skins  to  pay  for  the  rum  he  had 
consumed,  and  told  them  they  would  not  get  any  more  until 
they  squared  their  debts.  For  two  weeks  I  worked  with  the 
devil  riding  me.  I  hated  the  thought  of  night  and  invented 
excuses  to  keep  up  and  busy.  The  gardens  had  been  sadly  ne 
glected  and  the  women  were  kept  at  work  tending  these.  The 
hunters  were  gradually  cleared  from  the  fort  and  the  grounds 
until  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  down  and  hate  myself  and  the 
country.  The  Pillager  had  been  but  a  poor  companion  after  he 
joined  me.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  hunting  buffaloes,  and 
when  we  met  he  made  no  reference  to  Miss  Dearness.  I 
wouldn't  ask  him  about  her  or  affairs  at  the  X.  Y.  post  for 


242  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  NORTH 

anything,  and  he  had  no  talk  except  concerning  how  fat  the 
cows  were  and  the  like. 

One  day  I  walked  down  to  the  river,  thinking  to  take  my 
canoe  and  paddle  upstream  and  kill  time.  As  I  stood,  trying 
to  decide  whether  I  really  would  go  or  not,  a  canoe  rounded  the 
bend  down  stream  and  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes  as  I  be 
held  the  flaming  torch  of  hair.  I  would  not  go  upstream  as 
she  was  going  in  the  same  direction.  She  continued  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  fighting  the  full  force  of  the  current.  I 
stared  straight  ahead.  She  came  abreast  of  me  but  did  not 
appear  to  see  me.  Then,  with  a  vicious  cut  of  the  paddle,  she 
turned  inshore  and  before  I  knew  it  was  pulling  her  canoe  up 
on  the  beach. 

"You're  not  very  neighbourly,"  she  quietly  remarked,  looking 
up  into  my  face. 

"I'm  poor  company,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  I'm  going  away.  I've  brought  you  the  keys  to  the 
post.  Angus  will  stay  there  till  you  come  to  take  over  things." 

"You  going — "  I  whispered,  feeling  this  was  the  end  of  the 
world. 

"Going  back  east,"  she  pleasantly  explained.  "The  coalition 
doesn't  seem  to  interest  you." 

I  must  have  looked  my  stupidity,  for  she  patiently  explained : 

"The  N.  W.  and  the  X.  Y.  have  joined  forces.  I'm  to 
turn  over  everything  to  you." 

"When  did  you  learn  this?"  I  cried. 

"When  I  stopped  at  the  H.  B.  camp  at  the  Forks  and  found 
an  X.  Y.  express  there.  He  was  on  his  way  to  me  with  a 
message  from  the  X.  Y.  headquarters.  Simon  McTavish  is 
dead.  Sir  Alexander  MacKenzie  is  now  willing  to  combine. 
There  is  no  X.  Y.  company.  It's  the  Northwest  company 
now." 

This  was  astounding  and  most  welcome  news.  It  would 
make  it  possible  for  N.  W.  Northmen  to  bring  the  Indians 
back  to  their  senses.  I  said — "When  do  you  go?" 

"Soon.    In  a  day  or  so.    There's  a  summer  brigade  coming 


THE  PILLAGER  SHAKES  THE  CALF'S  TAIL     243 

down  the  Assiniboin.  The  Pillager  is  to  paddle  me  to  the 
Forks." 

I  rubbed  my  head  and  forced  myself  to  reason  a  bit.  Then 
I  knew  what  had  puzzled  me  and  I  asked — 

"If  you  knew  about  the  coalition  when  you  reached  the 
Forks,  why  did  you  keep  on  to  the  X.  Y.  post  and  wait  two 
weeks  before  telling  me?" 

She  turned  away  abruptly,  with  more  of  her  aloofness,  I  as 
sumed.  I  stepped  out  on  the  strip  of  sand  and  picked  up  the 
paddle  she  had  dropped.  Then,  turning,  I  surprised  her  steal 
ing  a  glance  at  me.  Never  could  a  Sioux  knife  in  grating 
through  my  ribs  give  me  such  a  pang  as  did  sight  of  the  two 
tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

I  gaped,  then  seized  her  hand  and  waited  a  second  to  make 
sure  my  medicine  was  right.  She  did  not  offer  to  draw  away. 
Very  slowly  I  drew  her  to  me. 

"What  made   it  wrong  the  other   time  was  because  you 

hadn't  first  told  me  that  you  loved  me,"  she  whispered. 

******* 

A  brown  river  rushed  over  the  southern  horizon,  dotted  with 
the  brown  carcasses  of  its  shaggy  victims,  bringing  the  breath 
of  menace  from  the  country  of  the  Sioux  where  the  opportune 
coming  of  the  Lewis  and  Clark  expedition  up  the  Missouri 
gave  me  my  chance  to  help  the  English  girl.  She  always  held 
it  was  not  right — the  way  the  fur  trade  was  conducted.  And 
I  always  sat  silent  and  let  her  have  her  own  way  of  thinking. 
As  I  grew  older  I  realized  it  was  a  beautiful  way  she  had  of 
thinking.  Being  a  Northman,  I  didn't  agree  with  her  in  my 
thoughts.  But  now,  since  she's  gone  away  on  the  river  that  is 
always  calling,  I  wonder. 


THE  END. 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


